


The Art Thief

by Nia_Kantorka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Artist Harry, Auror Draco, Bottom Harry, Falling In Love, Getting Together, HP: EWE, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, switching implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-25 11:55:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2620823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nia_Kantorka/pseuds/Nia_Kantorka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an art thief steals one of Harry Potter’s paintings the Minister of Magic requests one of his best Aurors on that case. Draco Malfoy is not amused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art Thief

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Iwao](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iwao/gifts), [This_Bloody_Cat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/This_Bloody_Cat/gifts).



> ¡feliz Navidad! Happy Christmas iwao and this_bloody_cat!  
> When I learned about my giftees I was simultaneously excited and frightened. You are both so talented artists and know all about writing a good fic. That was quite intimidating but I gave my best. Your wish lists and some LJ stalking helped. I found a lovely unclaimed prompt by this_bloody_cat which immediately _spoke_ to me. I adjusted it slightly and I really hope Harry’s art will speak to both your artists’ senses. If not, blame me.  
>  Sadly, I failed to give TBC a bottom!Draco. Harry just had a mind of his own. But I implied switching and hope that’s ok. (If I had had more time, I would have let the boys have more fun.)
> 
> Thank you L. for giving me some feedback on the idea. Without my lovely alphas, C. and C., this fic would have _never_ been started much less finished. I’m so lucky to have both of you and there is no limit to my gratitude. Thank you L. for polishing and doing a fabulous and fast beta job. All remaining faults are my own.  
>  I would love to say _"Thank you!"_ to our wonderful mods. It was a pleasure and I'm so happy to be part of this year's erised's _artists and authors gang_.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.

**_The Art Thief_ **  
_Tate Gallery, London, 24th September 2009_

Of course I took my broom. I flew from the north bank of the Thames, crossed the river next to Millenium Bridge and headed straight to the famous Muggle art gallery. Though I lived on the other side of the city I was quite familiar with the Tate Modern. I loved art and had often wandered the corridors and lost myself in the tales the pictures had to tell. But that was not the only reason why I knew the Tate Modern so well. A thief always remembered past crime scenes. And this was not my first robbery from that museum. I knew the habits of the security company at days and nights by heart. Therefore I landed on the roof with its big skylights. Definitely the best way to enter this part of the Tate Gallery.

Anyway, I felt uncomfortable this time and doubts were gnawing their way through my conscience. I had never stolen pictures by a wizard before, and I wasn’t happy in doing so. Especially not stealing a picture by _that_ wizard. One didn’t do such things. One didn’t steal art by a hero and even more so by a friend. I felt the rush of guilt churning in my stomach.

But I couldn’t help it. I _needed_ the money. My father had been ill since the war. Death Eaters had taken a toll on him. I had been courageous and brave at that time. Yes, long time ago I had done things the right way and I wouldn’t have changed past choices, even if I could. But my father had been paying the price for my boldness- he even paid it now. And the reparations hadn’t lasted _that_ long in relation to the continuous nursing and mental help my father still needed. 

I touched the pendant he’d given me. It was tucked away safely under my black jumper, but it was big enough that I could feel its familiar form through the wool. A powerful talisman, and it helped me to focus on my mission tonight, which would bring me a lot of Galleons. More than I would ever be able to earn with a regular job. I simply couldn’t afford remorse.

Therefore I had grabbed the anonymous assignment I had got some weeks ago with both hands. Following the given order I should steal three pictures, all by the same artist but from different locations. A thousand Galleons had been deposited into our Gringotts vault no twenty-four hours after I had accepted the contract. It seemed that the client had been eager for me to start my haul. I would get five thousand Galleons for the first and the second picture and nine thousand more for the last. Such a huge amount of money would give me a break. Finally I would be able to change my _choice of career_ and relax a bit about all the Healer’s and Nurse’s bills.

 _That must be one filthy rich art lover_ , I thought not for the first time. And every time the same question popped up in my mind: _Why doesn’t this person just buy a picture by the artist?_ I knew first hand that the artist sold his pictures. _Weird, really weird._ I could sense an interesting story behind my client’s intentions but I didn’t want to know. _Whom was I kidding?_ Of course I wanted to know, but I shouldn’t and couldn’t. If I got caught, it was best to know nothing more than I already did. To help my poor dad was one thing, to sustain the cravings of a dotty art lover a whole other level. 

If a look-out would have been around, he could have seen me, a slim figure in black clothes, face and hair covered by a much too warm ski cap. I was standing on the roof of the Tate Modern’s Turbine Hall ready to enter the building. But of course nobody was around at four o’clock on a Thursday morning because every sensible soul was laying in bed. Luckily, I wasn’t a sensible soul and I’d always been fond of being awake at odd hours. Wouldn’t it be a blast to take a long tour of the Tate’s exhibitions all alone? Not today, today I was not a visitor but a thief.

I took my wand out of my jacket and opened parts of the skylights with a murmured _Alohomora_. Then I casted a _Disillusionment Charm_ on my broom and myself, and a _Lumos_ before I flew into Turbine Hall. Once inside I ascended up to the second floor, looking for the part of the exhibition called _Poetry and Dream_. I knew the artist was pleased that one of his pictures hung here, and this thought was followed by another wave of guilt. Like a riptide it crashed against the wall of determination I had tried to steel myself with. _Thank Merlin,_ determination won.

I landed the broom and strode into the fourth room where it hung. The first picture on my list. _Crossroads_. It was one of my favourites by _that_ artist as well, and I knew why my client wanted it. 

The painting was disturbing in its dreamlike and ethereal state, but I had no time for a detailed view right now. My gaze didn’t linger on the familiar forest, the dark clearing, or the misty train station. I would take a long and detailed look in the safety of my home before I would transfer _Crossroads_ to the announced delivery place. Oh, yes.

Examining the light and pressure sensors, I concentrated on the spell that would cause a concurrent short circuit in the electronic devices. I had trained in these skills years ago, switching streetlights on and off, and I was now able to bypass up to fifty lamps or circuits at once. The sensors were much smaller but worked just the same. I whispered a short intonation and all lights went off. 

With a _Levitation Charm_ the painting came off the wall. I shrank and secured it with a layer of bubble wrap, put it into a small box, and stowed it into the inside pocket of my black jacket. Then I turned, picked up the broom, and went out of the museum as I came in. As always, I left no trace behind.

As far as I know nobody saw me while flying back to the river banks and Apparating home. As soon as I entered our house I lifted the scratchy ski-cap from my face. I checked on my sleeping father and changed into non-black pyjamas. _Not my favourite colour, that’s for sure._ Then I unpacked my quarry. Being high on adrenaline after my successful raid I knew I couldn’t sleep right now. And as I had to handover the picture soon I was eager to take a good look at it myself. And for a few hours I just did that, relishing in the captivating and colourful sight.

xxx

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, 25th September 2009_

Draco Malfoy sat at the breakfast table and was annoyed. One wouldn’t know it from his inscrutable features but the pursed lips were hint enough for his mother to see. Nevertheless, she carried on talking about the big theft, and how devastated Potter must be that his breakthrough picture had been stolen from the Muggles' Tate Gallery. 

_Poor Potty_ , Draco thought, displeased, gnawing on his toast and looking at the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ , where Harry Potter’s irked face tried to disappear from view. Of course no picture of the painting but the git himself. 

To his mother’s great annoyance, Draco had never seen any of Potter’s paintings. For her, being a patron of the arts, Draco’s ignorance must hurt. But Draco wasn’t ignorant of fine arts, he just didn’t like the fact that not only the whole world marvelled at their Saviour, but his mother too. 

It was bad enough that Potter had saved his life and had also bestowed the Malfoy’s reputation at their trials but the git had even put in a good word for his father. Though Draco knew it had been for his mother’s sake, who had saved Potter’s life during the Battle of Hogwarts, Potter’s testimony astonished him even after all these years. _Hell_ , Potter’s interfering had been the reason Draco could have become an Auror as well. _It was just too much_ , and he didn’t want to think about Potter’s obnoxious persona anymore. 

No such luck. His mother went on and on about that _Crossroads_ painting and how its theft would be a huge loss for the Wizarding and the Muggle world. _I can live on without having seen it, thank you very much._ Draco snorted. His mother had become good friends with Potter over the last decade, and Draco had no clue where and when _that_ had happened. Must have been at one of the countless vernissages she loved to attend. _Or maybe they’ve bonded over the life saving,_ his subconscious whispered without being asked.

With a _pop_ Milla, one of the Malfoy’s house elves appeared next to Draco. 

“Master Draco, a fire call from the Ministry. Master Draco must go as Master is requested by Mister Robards,” the high-pitched voice sounded displeased on Draco’s behalf. 

“Thank you, Milla,” Draco said and left the table. “Mother, please excuse me, I need to go and see why Robards requires me urgently.” He went to his mother, kissed her good-bye, and took the chance at escaping the endless Potter talk.

xxx 

_Ministry of Magic, London, 25th September 2009_

“You can’t be serious.” Draco folded his arms to stop himself from leaping to his feet and pacing through Robards’ office. Malfoys didn’t get agitated, especially not in public.

“Malfoy, of course I’m serious.” Robards sighed. “The Minister requested one of our best Aurors. As you might know, Weasley is still recovering in St. Mungo’s after he got that curse at yesterday’s raid in Glastonbury, Thomas and Ericsson are still on their undercover mission, and Patil and Abbott are on vacation. And you six _are_ my best Aurors.”

“But why must an Auror work on a case of art theft? Why can’t Magical Law Enforcement Patrol deal with the problem?” Draco was slightly embarrassed by the whiny ring of his voice.

“Because the stolen painting is one of Harry Potter’s, and the Minister has requested an Auror on that case. So, stop complaining and set to work.” 

Robards former good mood had vanished over these last minutes and Draco didn’t dare to push him further. _Harry sodding Potter. Again. That git seems to be everywhere. Bloody hell!_

Moping, Draco stormed out of Robards’ office.

xxx 

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, 25th September 2009_

“Harry, please take a seat.” Narcissa pointed at the comfortable looking living room suite. 

But Harry was still too upset to sit down. He gazed apologetically at Narcissa and walked over to the big windows taking in the colourful view. Narcissa’s garden was beautiful, and the leaves turning yellow and red were making it even more spectacular. Even in his agitated state his artist senses took comfort in the brilliant palette of autumn colours.

“Why would someone steal my picture? You could buy one. And why _that_ picture? I hold it dear. Not only because it was the first noticed by the public but…,” Harry sighed and turned back to Narcissa while one hand was rumbling through his hair. “So many lives changed that day. Yours. Mine. Nearly everyone’s I know.”

“Oh, Harry, I know. And it is such a shame that someone stole _Crossroads_.” She walked over to him, put a hand on his shoulder and patted him. And this little gesture did the trick. It calmed him in an instant. Narcissa must be really upset on his behalf because she wasn’t a sentimental woman and normally didn’t show her affection physically. 

“I knew you would understand,” Harry sighed, relieved.

“Yes, dear, I do. And though I don’t have the best memories of that time, I appreciate what good that day brought us. Just look at our friendship,” Narcissa said, giving him a reassuring little smile.

“Oh, yes, you are a wonderful friend. And you are the only one who really gets my intentions when it comes to my art.”

“My, isn’t that a lovely sight,” a cold voice sounded from the door. 

As if on command Harry and Narcissa turned their attention to the man walking into the room. Lucius Malfoy: tall, blond, rigid and piercing cold as always.

Harry frowned and saw just out of the corner of his eyes that he wasn’t the only one.

“Lucius, did I miss an appointment?” Narcissa asked.

“No. I just wanted to see for myself how our Saviour is dealing with his loss,” Lucius replied acridly.

“Mr Malfoy, how kind of you,” Harry didn’t try to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

“At your service, Mr Potter,” Malfoy’s voice was dribbling with irony.

“Lucius,” Narcissa said cuttingly.

“Yes, dear, I shall conduct myself.” He gazed inscrutably at Harry. “Mr Potter, please excuse me,” Lucius Malfoy said and left the room.

Harry turned to Narcissa, a frown wrinkling his famous scar and asked, “What was that about?”

“To be honest, I have no clue,” Narcissa answered. “But don’t let him get to you. He might be jealous of all the attention you’ll get now.”

“Oh, Lord, I haven’t thought about that,” Harry said, sounding desperate in his own ears. “I would pass all the attention over to your husband, if I could.”

“Yes, Harry, I know.” 

Narcissa gave him another consolatory pat on the shoulder, and Harry felt the tension melting away once more.

“Thank you, Narcissa! It has been good talking to you.”

“You are welcome.”

xxx 

_Harry Potter’s Cottage, Devon, 26th of September 2009_

Draco Apparated at the base of a path leading up a hill, frowning because the cottage was on its top. _Of course, there must be wards._ But Draco was in no mood to be reasonable, not when Potter was involved. He began to climb up the hill.

It wasn’t helping that he hadn’t been able to find any trace the thief might have left behind at the Tate Gallery. Rien. Nada. Nothing. No hair, no fingerprints, not even a known magical signature. He only knew the thief had come through the skylights and circuited the electronics because he had picked up slight traces of magic. But he hadn’t found more than that. Yesterday had been a really bad day. And Draco didn’t see a chance for that to change in the near future. Not as long as he was forced to work on Potter’s case. _Obviously._

Draco was halfway up the hill and could take a better look at his surroundings. He stopped and spun round in a slow circle. _Wow._ He could see the sea stretched out before him and the mouth of the Dart River to his right. There was a tree line just above the cliffs and all around him were fields and meadows. He couldn’t see Dartmouth but could catch a glimpse of Dartmouth Castle in the distance. He wasn’t able to spot Brixham on the other side of the peninsula either. 

He understood the appeal this view must have for an artist. _Or someone who pretends to be an artist– Oh my god, I sound like an arse, even to myself… Ok._ He would wait and take a look at Potter’s paintings before he made his verdict. And he would make an effort to be nice. 

If he was honest, he couldn’t blame Potter for his trouble. It was a pain to be honest, but Draco preferred his life that way nowadays. And he would get that bloody thief who caused him all the trouble. No matter what!

Lost in thoughts he climbed up the hill in no time. The Cottage was surrounded by yellow gorse, and purple heather, and a neat patch of magical plants and herbs. He would have never guessed that Harry Potter seemed to love gardening. A wooden bench and a table stood left to the front door. 

He knocked at the door which was painted in dark green. _Slytherin green_ he thought.

A minute later it was pulled open and there he was. Harry Potter.

Draco let his gaze fly once up and down and blinked. _When did the git become so handsome?_ Even the speckled clothes or the dots in his hair and on his face couldn’t distract Draco from his thoughts. He stared into green eyes and cleared his throat.

“Hello Potter.”

“Hi Malfoy, please come in.”

Potter turned around and Draco followed him into the house.

The hallway was small with a coat rack on the wall and a shoe rack packed with Wellingtons, trainers and walking shoes. Nothing fancy as far as Draco could see. _Fine leather shoes don’t make any sense up on a hill like this_ , he thought. Or maybe Potter hadn’t changed so much over time. 

Draco’s gaze flickered to Potter’s arse. Though the jeans were stained in colours, he saw the label- Levi’s jeans. A solid Muggle jeans brand, as far as Draco knew, because Malfoy’s didn’t wear jeans. _Maybe I should try them one day_ , he thought when he saw how the jeans hung low on Potter’s hips and clad to his arse like a second skin. _Or, being turned on by Potter’s bum in tight jeans was a sign that it has been too long since he got laid._ Draco shook his head like a dog would to get rid of the water in its ears.

They walked into a spacious room. It was not only the living room with a sitting corner, but part of Potter’s studio too. The wall to the south side was all windows and the room was bathed in light on this bright autumn day. Draco could see at least three easels with paintings in different stages, more canvases were leaning against walls or a half-height rack which was filled mostly with paint tubes, palettes, and brushes. One board was charged with charcoal in all sizes, some even in colours though Draco wasn’t sure if these were called charcoal or something else. He wasn’t a painter but Potter was. _Obviously._

“Would you like something to drink? Coffee, tea, water, or maybe some juice?”

“Tea would be fine. Thank you, Potter.”

“You’re welcome, Malfoy.” Potter turned and walked through a door into his kitchen. 

A stove and a wooden table with chairs was all Draco saw, but he could hear the typical sound of a kettle being filled. It felt slightly awkward to be on such polite terms with his former enemy. Draco shrugged and walked over to the canvas which seemed to be nearly finished. 

It took his breath away.

The canvas showed an oil painting of an old man. The man looked surprised and excited with his huge brown eyes. His face was creased with wrinkles; around the eyes, on his front and around his mouth. It seemed as if he would laugh out loud any minute and though he was old he was radiating lust for life and happiness. 

It was painted in dots and dabs, like a Van Gogh. Even the colour scheme was similar. Yellow, orange and red dominated the man’s face, the background was a mixture of pastel green and blue as was the collar of the cotton sweater he wore. The skin colours matched well with the white and grey of the man’s spare hair at the sides of his head and his bushy eyebrows. The man had a large nose and even larger ears, as old men seem to have, and he wasn’t handsome. But this picture wasn’t about beauty. It showed that you could see the wonders of life at any age, if you just had a look– no matter if you were young or old. It touched Draco’s inside with its simple but powerful message.

Now he got his mother’s talking about Potter’s huge talent as an artist. This picture might be a simple portrait but it was anything but plain.

Draco sighed. He hadn’t been prepared to be touched so deeply by one of Potter’s paintings. He caught out of the corner of his eyes that the other two paintings were portraits too. But he didn’t dare to take a closer look, otherwise he might embarrass himself in front of Potter feeling a slight tingle in his eyes.

xxx 

Harry let the tray with the tea pot, cups, milk, sugar, and spoons levitate before him into the living room. He saw Draco Malfoy standing rigid in front of his windows looking out at the sea. He seemed to be tense and exuded an intimidating _Auror vibe_. Harry felt disappointed to not catch Malfoy viewing his paintings. He didn’t even know if Malfoy had ever seen one of his paintings, but would have loved to know if they had an impact on him.

He wasn’t the most skilled artist of all times but he knew he could prompt feelings with his pictures. He felt them himself whenever he looked at some of his older pictures. And that he lost his chance with _Crossroads_ now was what had got him seriously pissed about its theft. 

His art wasn’t about approval, fame or money, though he appreciated compliments when people got touched by his drawings and told him so.

“I take it you don’t like art but enjoy a good view, Malfoy?”

“What? Yes, I do like your view. And I do love art.”

“I see. So, I guess you love old masters but don’t like my pictures?” Harry asked bluntly.

“Potter, we haven’t met in years. Why are you implying I wouldn’t like your pictures? I have only seen one of yours for the first time today.” Malfoy sounded exasperated.

“Tell me, please. Did you like it?” Harry cringed at his request. And he knew he appeared persistent but couldn’t help himself. He really wanted to know what Draco Malfoy _of all people_ thought about one of his paintings. 

But of course the git didn’t make it easy for him.

“You can draw dots and dabs. Your talent must have shown in nursery school,” Malfoy said disdainfully.

Harry saw a challenge when he got one. “Nope. No nursery school. Don’t you know I crawled out of a cupboard when I was eleven? And yes, I managed to draw dots and dabs by the time I realized that I’m a wizard. But I wanted to know: What did you feel when you looked at my picture?”

“Well, it’s colourful.”

“Oh, yes, it is. But I was asking about your feelings, not if you need to check up on your vision.”

“As far as I know you are the one with the weak eyesight.”

“Thanks for the reminder, Malfoy. So, no feelings at all? Are you numb? How can you be such a philistine with _that_ mother?”

Malfoy turned around frowning and glared at Harry. 

“Mmmh, you just insulted me but complimented my mother. Very Slytherin, Potter. And as you asked so nicely and subtle about it…,” Malfoy’s piercing voice stopped and he took a deep breath before he spoke again, lower and softer this time. “He looks gorgeous, your old man. So alive and happy.” 

It looked as if Malfoy was embarrassed to admit that he _did_ feel something for Harry’s art.

Surprised Harry’s eyes grew wide and he could only answer honestly, “Thank you.”

“What would you have done if I hadn’t liked it?”

“Accepted your verdict with as much grace as it befits someone on display,” Harry answered with a twinkle in his eye. And added as a peace offering, “Malfoy, please take a seat and have some tea.”

His gaze floated over Malfoy while he walked through the room. The git might be as annoying as ever but he _was_ handsome. He had always been good looking, even under the pressure of sixth year at Hogwarts, but now his features were stunning. Taller than Harry, all muscles, still, but one could see that he could spring into action any second. Like a predator would go after his prey. Thinking about his last holiday in South America, a picture came into his mind. Not a dragon. Malfoy definitely reminded him of a black-chested buzzard-eagle. All grey and silvery, impressive and powerful to see, no matter if the bird was still or flying. 

Malfoy crossed the room in a few elegant strides, sat down, prepared his tea with a splash of milk and took a sip. 

Harry heard him clearing his throat.

“Tell me about _Crossroads_.” 

Harry’s mind focused and he saw _the Auror_ was back in place.

“What do you want to know?” he asked. 

Malfoy rolled his eyes and Harry got annoyed. Again.

“No really. Do you want to know when I painted it? What I wanted to say with it? What it means to me? Why it is colourful? All of that? Something else?”

“Potter, don’t be daft,” Malfoy said and Harry wanted to interrupt but Malfoy held up a hand to stop him and went on. “I want to know all about this painting or as much as you can tell me. I don’t know what this theft has been about. Was it out of revenge? Desire? Hate? Maybe there will be another attempt. So, please, tell me.”

Malfoy’s explanation could stop the flaring of Harry’s temper, especially his plea at the end which was matched by his voice.

And Harry told him.

xxx 

Draco would have never guessed that Potter had been insecure or purposeless after the war. After the trials Potter had started Auror training but had quitted it right after his first week. That made sense because Draco couldn’t remember Potter being part of his training. But Draco had started his own training late because he had waited for his formal verdict of absolution.

Potter had left England and travelled through Europe. He’d visited a lot of countries, but apparently Italy and France had made the most impact on him. Draco had been to the Mediterranean Coast himself and could fathom the atmosphere, the lights and the soil breathing history everywhere on Potter’s way. 

Harry had done an apprenticeship under an artist in Sienna, Tuscany, Italy, and had been in Aix-en-Provence and Sète, in France for some time. Three years later he had come back to England. He had met Draco’s mother in a café near Diagon Alley and they had started to chat. As soon as Narcissa had heard of Potter’s profession she’d wanted to take a look. _Of course, his mother could never resist to take a look at the work of new artists._ She must have been impressed because she had pulled some strings and soon Potter had had his first exhibition. As soon as the first art critic had caught an eye of _Crossroads_ Potter had become famous. Again.

“It had been great to be suddenly famous for something I had _created_ and not just because I was who I was,” Draco heard him say.

Draco could relate to these feelings. He was very glad that nowadays nearly everybody saw the good Auror in him and not the failed Death Eater or just a Malfoy. “It must have been a relief.”

“Yes, exactly.” Potter shot him a surprised look.

Draco smirked. But he didn’t want Potter to get too chummy with him. No, to be honest, _he_ didn’t want to get too comfortable around Potter. Tricky ground. Better to avoid _that_.

“Potter, it’s heart-warming to listen to your story about being kissed by the muse but could you start talking about your stolen picture?” Draco said with an extra posh voice.

“Why do you have to be such a prat? You wanted to know what it means to me. So, shut your mouth and listen.”

“Uhuh, I didn’t know we had to start with Adam and Eve, oh Chosen One.”

“Stop being a dick, Malfoy.”

Draco smirked again. Potter ignored him and carried on.

“It’s about the Battle of Hogwarts. _Crossroads_ , I mean. About what happened that night. And in a way, it shows how this night affected everyone else’s lives as well.”

Every sense of mischief left Draco, as if the air was blown out of his lungs. He didn’t see that coming. Though, it made sense. Why should have Potter been so upset about losing _that_ picture?

“I see,” Draco said in a much smaller voice than before. “What did you draw from that night?”

“The Forbidden Forest with the clearing. Voldemort and his closest followers were there waiting for me. He knew I would come. And I knew that he knew and that I would go nonetheless. And the train station of course.” 

Potter’s green eyes had lost their vivid gleam, they looked jaded, nearly haunted. Draco didn’t like it. It was so _un-Potterish_. He wanted to grab him, to shake him out of his depressive reverie. He didn’t dare. Draco tried something else.

“Potter, have you lost your marbles? What train station?” Draco didn’t sneer; his questions weren’t intended to be cutting or cruel. He just wanted to… Help Potter? _Good grief. Who is the nutcase now?_

“I died. Did you know that? By using _Avada Kedavra_ Voldemort killed his unintendedly created Horcrux, killed me. I went to him willingly, that night in the forest, without defence, and because of that, I got a choice. I could choose to stay dead, and go on, or come back. I chose life and made _this_ choice at the train station. King’s Cross, if you must know. Dumbledore was there. We talked about life and death, Horcruxes, our families, and about the choices we made in life. Voldemort was there too. He was deformed, stained, and pathetic. I don’t know if it was real or just happened in my head. Anyway, it doesn’t matter.”

Harry’s green eyes locked with his. And Draco stared back in awe. 

“No, I didn’t know. Does anyone know about _it_?”

“No. I told Hermione and Ron about what happened at the clearing and about me being the eighth Horcrux, your mother too. She was there as you know. But not in such details.”

“Why did you…” Draco couldn’t finish his question. He’d asked about it. Had used his Auror skills and his history with Potter to worm it out of him. He felt bad. 

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s ok. It’s been easier to tell you than anybody else. Tell _you_ , who knows about the severity of that night but doesn’t care about me on a personal level.” 

Draco swallowed hard. He’d always talked himself into believing he didn’t care about Harry Potter but … He shook his head again. _Honesty could be a real nuisance._ It wasn’t true though. He might have wanted to not care about Potter but he did. And he always had. Since his eleven year old self hadn’t gotten the hand-shake and friendship he had wanted, he had cared about him. _Well._

Potter’s eyes pierced into him, like claws cutting through flesh. Draco felt bare. And it would get worse any minute.

“It’s not true. I didn’t want to care about you, but I always have.”

 _There._ He might have not wanted to admit it but he did. He was simultaneously proud and terrified.

“Oh.” That was all Potter said. 

Draco nearly lost his composure. He poured out his heart, to Potter of all people, and the git said nothing more than _‘Oh’_. He was done here. 

“Well, thank you for the nice little chat,” Draco said concealing his hurt behind his usual defence mechanisms, sarcasm dripping from his voice. He intended to leave Potter _the fuck_ alone, jumped out of the chair, and turned around.

“Wait,” he heard Potter’s urgent voice but didn’t listen. 

“Draco, wait. Please.”

He stopped dead in his tracks. Took a deep breath and faced Potter, _Harry?_ , again.

And Harry took his chance. “I was surprised. I didn’t intend to be rude. And, to be honest, I might have felt the same. There has never been indifference between us, has there?” His voice sounded genuine and utterly Gryffindor-ish. 

Draco nodded subconsciously. 

He felt drained- it had been an emotional morning after all. Pulling himself together he straightened his posture. 

They walked towards the front door. _Together._

“Thank you, for telling me about your _Crossroads_ , Potter. I know you hold it dear and I intend to catch that thief. I wanted to catch him right from the start but now I feel even more determined to do so. I’ve taken offense. On your _and_ on my behalf.”

“Thank you, Draco. If you need some expertise in art, you could ask me.” 

Harry put out his hand while his gaze searched for Draco’s eyes.

Astonishment bubbled up in him, flooding him with warmth and something more, a nameless feeling he couldn’t catch. Draco took Harry’s strong, blotted hand and shook it. A jolt of electricity spread from their linked hands through his body. Half of Draco wanted to stay, his other half sought to escape. 

“I will,” he murmured and left the house. Draco felt Harry’s gaze lingering on him, following him down the hill until he reached the wards’ borders and Disapparated.

xxx 

_Leaky Cauldron, London, 7th October 2009_

I hadn’t been to the _Leaky Cauldron_ for ages. I’d come regularly with my friends after the war. It had been our weekly meeting point on Friday nights. But life did have a way of carrying on and habits changed when couples had children, friends left the country or one had relatives to take care of.

I used a Glamour to change my appearance. No need for Tom to recognise me. With mousy brown hair and tawny eyes no one should. I was thinking about the fact that I was wearing dull clothes again and that my friends would be surprised seeing me like this. Yes, I'd definitely got used to being a criminal in disguise and I was not the good friend I’d always thought myself to be. I sighed, took a sip from my pint, and studied the room and its nearly non-existing wards. Then my gaze drifted over to the picture on the opposite wall. It was beautiful. _He_ was beautiful.

 _Angelo_ , my next haul. I had no clue why his creator had gifted Tom with it but it was a masterpiece on its own. Though, even I could see that it was totally different from _Crossroads_.

No, no, it wasn’t about an angel or angels. It had been drawn with Michelangelo’s David sculpture in mind. I knew that the painter had fallen in love with the original sculpture located in the _Galleria dell’Accademia_ and its copy outside on the _Piazza della Signoria_ in Florence. 

One evening he told me all about the curves and muscles of this marble David. How the light shone on his features and how marvellous his contrapposto poses created an image of being in motion. But the artist had interpreted it in its own and unique way.

The painting showed a nude young man as the famous baroque sculpture did. A very handsome, coloured young man, _I must admit_. He could have been a cousin of the Patil twins, with his Indian origin. His skin reminded me of caramel, his black hair curled in shoulder length waves around his face.

Instead of a sling the young man held a wand over his left shoulder. Like David, _Angelo_ showed some motion too. His right muscular leg was holding his full weight while the left pointed forward. His small hips and broad shoulders rested at opposing angles, giving a slight s-curve to his well-defined torso. _I love his abs, I really do._ His private bits looked delicious too. Though not aroused, he was well-hung. Believe me, nobody who loved men, would say _no_ to such a fine specimen. 

My mouth went dry fantasising about the contrast such a lovely caramel skin colour would create being pressed against my own pale one, and I took another sip from my pint. That’s what this artist’s paintings did. _You connect with them instinctively._ He made you feel. Not necessarily the same he’d felt when he painted his pictures, but the ones he wanted to show his viewers. Here it was all about natural beauty, strength, and motion.

The capture of motion was emphasised by the turn of his head to the left but most of all by his eyes. I could only try to describe his amazing, honey brown eyes in his caramel face. They looked like molten amber, and weren’t staring into the distance but seemed to follow me through the room. I checked it when I went to the loo- It did not matter from which angle I looked at the picture, _Angelo’s_ gaze held mine. I knew that the artist didn’t use any magic; the whole effect had been created with technique. _I feel slightly intimidated, though._ As if the painting knew, I was up to no good.

I tried to shake this feeling off. While I was finishing my drink I lost myself in thoughts about how _Angelo_ would look from behind. I imagined a firm and peachy butt, a dimple above his arse cleft and a strong and broad back. I would love to ask the artist if he had seen a man like him naked or made this muscular and strong build up in his mind. Would be slightly treacherous though if I would be able to steal _Angelo_ tonight. And though I knew the artist favoured men in his bed, he had painted nude women as beautifully as nude men.

xxx

Dressed in black trousers and robes, I came back later that night, when Diagon Alley finally got quiet. Because a ski mask would have gained attention instead of dispelled it in Wizarding London, I wore a beret to conceal my still glamoured hair. A _Disillusionment Charm_ gave me another layer of safety.

The public parlour of the _Leaky_ was closed now. Only the side entrance for the lodgers and Tom himself was illuminated by a small lantern. As an adept thief I stayed clear of that part of the building. I went to the pub’s door and reached out with my magic. Yes, there were wards. Nothing too strong for my magical powers but I didn’t want to push my luck. It was likely that breaking the wards would alarm Tom in his room. And that was the last thing I needed. I approached the two windows next with tendrils of my magic. Only mediocre _Locking Charms_ were palpable here. _Reckless, Tom, very reckless_ , I thought. 

My unspoken _Alohomora_ opened the right window and I climbed up the brick wall to enter the room. I left the window ajar behind me. If someone walked by at this time of night, they wouldn’t see something amiss but I could escape easily. I didn’t need to cast a _Lumos_. Silvery streaks of moonlight flooded the room and helped me to navigate my way between wooden chairs and tables. My mind assisted with a fresh picture stored away from this afternoon.

Not a minute later I stood before _Angelo_. Just at the moment I wanted to cast a whispered _Wingardium Leviosa_ I heard creaking floorboards and footsteps coming nearer. I didn’t hesitate and cowered down under the next table. _Who the hell is awake at three thirty in the morning?_ But panic wouldn’t help me. Closing my eyes I forced myself to breathe evenly. And years of meditation paid off in the end. 

Though the door to the room opened with a squeal and someone entered the public parlour, I made no sound, just waited crouched, breathing silently, heartbeat racing. I opened my eyes and saw Tom holding his glowing wand while he walked behind the bar and picked up a bottle of water from under the sink. He uncapped the bottle and swallowed nearly half its content. Nevertheless, he seemed half asleep and didn’t look around. He left, bottle in one hand wand in the other, and after several minutes, which felt like years, I couldn’t hear any more sounds. Exhaling deeply I regained my composure. 

I creeped out from under the table and hurried to cast the Levitation Spell on _Angelo_. And like the last time, I shrank the picture, coated it with bubble wrap, and put it into a box. Secured like this I put it into my inner robe pocket. Listening for any sounds, I walked carefully back to the window. Peeking left and right out on the street, I opened it and left the pub. My _Locking Charm_ set everything back to rights. 

Reaching the next Apparation point I couldn’t stifle the truth; _That has been close!_

xxx

_Ministry of Magic, London, 8th October 2009_

Draco paced through his office thinking hard. _How could another of Pott…, no, Harry’s pictures have been stolen? Bloody hell!_ Everyone was upset; Robards, Kingsley, his mother and Harry, of course. And Draco was taking this new theft personally as well. And he couldn’t even talk to Weasley about it. The bugger might have a big mouth and an even bigger stomach, but he always had a very logical approach when it came to mysteries. But first Weasley had been knocked out by a curse and now he had to take his paternal leave because the birth of his second child was due any minute. Draco would never tell him, but he missed his partner.

He stopped in front of his desk, grabbed two letters, and read them again.

_Dear Draco,_

_I visited Harry this morning and, I’m afraid to say so, he will go berserk in his cottage if he can’t do a thing about his stolen pictures._

_Yes, I know, you are the Auror and you know best what to do, and I’m sure you will solve that case as you always do, but maybe he could help you in doing so. You know he has good instincts._

_Why would someone steal paintings of an artist whose pictures are accessible in public or could be bought? As far as I can see there is something amiss. It might be out of revenge and I’m concerned– about someone hurting him terribly by demolishing his art._

_Please, do your old mother a favour and ask him for help. And it might be wise to not mention my interference._

_Take care._

_Love,_

_Mother_

He had thought about consulting Harry because he needed to know more about the second picture, even before his mother’s cunning letter arrived, and therefore he’d invited Harry to come and visit him in the Ministry this afternoon. His answer still made him smirk, roll his eyes, and smile. 

_Hello Draco,_

_No use to fall back on old, idiotic habits, so I'll just call you by your given name as I do with your Mother as well._

_Thank you very much for the invitation. I would be very glad to help you and tell you more about Angelo._

_I was very upset this morning but thankfully Narcissa visited and could calm me a bit. Some jogging up and down the peninsula here helped further. Now I’m as calm as I can get with two of my pictures being stolen._

_If it fits your schedule, I could come early this evening when most of the Ministry workers will probably have left the building. I really hate too much attention and sometimes Ministry folks tend to be the worst. I’ll be there around six thirty. If you are hungry by this time we could discuss the topic over dinner._

_Please tell me if my plan doesn’t suit you. I’m sure we could find another arrangement._

_Thank you!_

_Harry Potter_

Gryffindors. _Really_. They were wearing their hearts on their sleeves most of the time. Or maybe it was just Harry. If Draco remembered it correctly, his hasty actions and big mouth had often caused him trouble at Hogwarts. He had to admit that he’d used that to his advantage back then. 

But it was charming to be the recipient of this honesty for the first time. Draco was jittery. _Why the heck am I nervous to meet Harry? Bloody hell._ Maybe it was because they were now on first name terms with each other.

He casted a _Tempus_ and saw that his visitor would arrive any minute. He took a seat behind his desk and opened a case file after he’d quickly stored away the letters. He did not want to get caught swooning over a letter from the Saviour like a silly teenager would over a love letter.

xxx

Harry arrived at the fireplace of the Ministry’s Floo and made his way quickly to the staircase. Though he had to climb up four floors to reach the DMLE headquarters he preferred that over meeting _fans_ in the lift.

He still felt shaken about the second theft. On top of that, he was nervous about meeting Draco _and_ talking with him about _Angelo_. One didn’t talk every day with a handsome bloke about some pretty man, in the nude no less. He didn’t hide his sexual preferences but he wasn’t keen to spill the beans to someone he might fancy a bit either. _A bit? No need to lie to yourself,_ his conscience added helpfully.

Maybe going out for dinner would help to put him at ease. They could go to the _Leaky_ together. There they would not only get good food but he could take a look at the scene and put Tom at ease as well. He liked that plan. Lost in his thoughts he nearly missed the door to Draco’s office.

Harry took a deep breath and knocked.

“Please come in.”

Harry walked into the room, his gaze gliding over Draco Malfoy sitting behind his desk in seconds. 

“Hello Draco.”

“Hello Harry.”

Though he didn’t like the auburn robes, his artist’s eyes saw how well they contrasted with Draco’s pale skin, his gleaming grey eyes and his fair hair. It was shorter than he remembered it from a fortnight ago and much shorter than he had ever seen it. _He looks sexy as hell with this short spiky hair._

“Nice haircut. It suits you.”

 _Fuck. Put mind in gear before opening mouth, you idiot._ Harry felt a blush creeping up his cheeks. He saw Draco’s eyes widen a fraction and a small smile looming on his face.

“Thank you. I would love to return the favour. Well, let’s just say this _fresh out of bed style_ suits you.”

Harry laughed. “Ah, always the Slytherin giving a compliment and an insult in one go.”

Draco just smirked.

“Do you want to sit down or shall we go and have some dinner?”

“Let’s talk over dinner. I haven’t had a proper lunch after my sprint and am famished.”

“Do you have something in mind?”

“Actually, I have. What about a visit to the _Leaky Cauldron_? Tom’s kitchen is very good and I would like to take a look around. I’m sure you’ve inspected the crime scene already but maybe you could tell and show me what you’ve found.”

“It would have been a good idea, but we’ve already cleared the place. There will be bystanders and reporters, and as you’ve told me, you don’t like getting too much attention.”

“Well, I could use a Glamour. It’s a nuisance and I don’t like it very much but it’s been a necessity over the years to get quite good in disguising myself.”

Draco nodded, raised an eyebrow, and said, “What are you waiting for?”

Harry concentrated and casted the familiar spells silently. Draco watched his progress and his eyes grew wider and wider.

“Good, huh?” Harry asked.

xxx

Harry’s hair went golden and curlier, covering his scar completely. His eyes remained green but became a paler, minty shade. His nose grew a bit and his chin lost its sharp angle. He looked totally different, and only his cocky grin and the sparkle in his eyes gave him away. Nevertheless, Draco would have passed him without recognising _the Chosen One_. He would have appreciated the sight of this pretty blond man, though.

“Impressive,” Draco murmured. He got up, walked to the door and held it open.

“Well, wasn’t that a true compliment?” Harry asked him with a lopsided grin. “I’ll get vain if you’re not careful.”

“Stop it, you git!”

Harry laughed and followed Draco through the corridor.

xxx

Outside the Ministry Draco took Harry’s arm to Apparate them side-along to Diagon Alley. A whiff of musk, wood, and fresh cut grass reached his nose and it nearly swept him off his feet while landing. _Merlin_ , Harry’s fragrance was compelling. Draco was grabbed by a strong hand which helped him to stabilise while another wave of Harry’s essence washed over him.

His heart beat accelerated and his prick grew. Harry stared into his eyes as if he could read Draco’s thoughts or felt his reactions. Both couldn’t be, because they were not _that_ close. Draco blinked, swallowed, and took a quick step backwards. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled, trying to avoid those soul-scrutinizing eyes behind their glasses. Even minty-green they could disturb his peace. 

“You’re welcome.” 

Did Harry’s voice sound husky? _No_ , he thought, _it had to be his imagination_. Feeling slightly puzzled Draco took a calming breath and shook his head.

“Come on, Harry, I’m starving too,” he said a bit more cheerfully than necessary.

xxx

Walking towards the _Leaky Cauldron_ Harry felt Draco’s presence next to him. He wanted to look at the sleek figure but would only blush terribly if he got caught staring right now. _Oh Lord_ , he was in so much trouble. When Draco had stumbled into him at the Apparition point he’d acted reflexively and stopped his fall. He hadn’t expected to get lost in deep silver-grey eyes while doing so, or to get turned on by holding on to strong muscular arms.

He’d seen that Draco had been uncomfortable, but Harry didn’t know if out of embarrassment or because something else was the matter. Draco had not only retreated from him but averted his gaze on purpose. Draco Malfoy was a puzzle, one he couldn’t solve in one day. _Maybe never_ , he thought reflecting their inauspicious past. 

Harry sighed. Not the best foundation to talk about… well, anything personal.

xxx

Harry walked after Draco into the _Leaky Cauldron_ and as soon as he got into Tom’s sight, the innkeeper paled slightly but walked, not missing a beat, towards him. As a barman of one of the most popular wizarding pubs _and_ a friend Tom knew his disguise. Harry hoped he wouldn’t reveal it now that he was visibly agitated over the loss of Harry’s present.

But Tom was careful, looked around if somebody was listening, and said, “My friend, I’m so sorry. I never thought someone would steal your picture out of my pub. If I’ll ever get it back, I’m going to secure it three- and fourfold. I swear.” 

He noticed Draco next to him and asked him hopefully, “Mr Malfoy, you’ll catch this thief, won’t you?”

“Believe me, I’m planning to do so,” Draco said. 

Tom’s guilty expression changed nearly back to his normal friendly posture, and he asked if they wanted to take dinner. Harry nodded and Tom turned to the bar to get them the menu.

Harry saw the unoccupied table next to the now empty wall and reached for Draco’s arm to drag him over. 

“You must be hungrier than I thought,” Draco said with a raised eyebrow.

“Don’t be daft. Let’s just take a seat before our little talk catches some pen pusher’s attention.” Harry’s tone was more furious than he wanted it to be, but even this innocent gesture had an awful effect on his state of arousal. _Since when did Draco Malfoy’s proximity and his bloody arm muscles affect him so much?_ No wonder he was irritated. Maybe these stolen pictures were turning him into a nutcase, slowly but beyond recall.

“Sorry. You are right, of course,” Harry heard Draco murmuring. 

Even going nuts _this_ was an opportunity too good to be true.

“Draco, did you just say _‘you are right’_?” Harry asked with waving arms, painting quotation marks into the air. “Wonders never cease!”

“Oh, stop it, you prat.” 

Draco sounded petulant and at the brink of laughter and Harry’s stomach turned into knots because he could see a twinkle in the grey eyes though Draco tried to keep his face impassive. He was adorable, and Harry could literally feel more blood reaching his cock. _Oh, fuck. Did I just think of my school nemesis as an entrancing human being?_ To crown it all, a blush crept up his cheeks.

Tom reached their table and put the menu and two pints down and Harry was glad for the distraction.

“These are on me, lad, Mr Malfoy.”

“Thank you, Tom! Actually, I know what I would like to eat. I’ll take the _Cottage Pie_. And you Draco?”

Draco raised one eyebrow and told Tom in a conspiratorially hushed voice, “You know, our friend here is nearly famished. I think it’s best if I’ll just take the same. And thank you for the pint.” 

“You’re welcome. Dinner should be here in no time,” said Tom and left the table.

Harry saw Draco’s gaze sliding over the empty wall and back to him. Sounding serious now he said, “Tell me about Tom’s painting. As I take it, it’s called _Angelo?_ ”

Even though Harry knew it would come it was hard to start. _Best get it over with_ , he thought and took a deep breath.

xxx

Recognising that look on Harry’s face, Draco felt reminded of that moment a long time ago when Harry had prepared himself for their duel in second year or when he’d faced Voldemort in Hogwart’s Great Hall years later. _Ready for battle_ , he thought.

“I painted _Angelo_ after Michelangelo’s David. I saw the original statue in Florence. But _Angelo_ isn’t pale or marble, because I painted him after a colourful nude model named Radja. He was perfect to create some contrast to the Old Masters, you know? Get more diversity. You probably remember that I’ve never cared much about tradition. So, if it would still hang on this wall, you could see the front of a nude man with caramel skin, black curly hair, and amber eyes. A man, who is ready to jump out of the picture or follow your every step with his eyes.” Harry was rapidly firing one sentence after the other at Draco. 

And Draco felt a mixture of emotions spreading like bushfire through him: Joy, because Harry’s voice told him he’d fancied or was still fancying this man, which meant Harry was gay or at least bisexual; jealousy, because of the fancying part; curiosity and the wish to see this picture, and determination because he wanted to give this picture back to Tom and therefore make Harry happy as well. He tried to not let his feelings show on his face and wished he could say once in a lifetime the right thing; nothing rude, taunting or contemptuous. And then he knew what to say. He raised his eyes and his gaze got trapped by Harry’s. 

“I wish I could take a look at _Angelo_. It sounds like he is a sight for sore eyes.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, a grateful smile playing on his lips. 

“You seemed to fancy him. Why did you give this picture away?”

Harry blushed and fidgeted with his unruly hair but held eye contact. 

“I wanted to thank Tom with one of my paintings and this one seemed best matching the vivid atmosphere of the _Leaky_. And you are right. I fancied him. But Radja was not only straight but a Muggle with a staunchly conservative family. His being a nude model was Radja’s revolt against the expectations of his family. Even if he had been gay, I would have had too much weight on my own mind to pick up a relationship with someone who probably needed support for dealing with his bigoted family. But he was handsome and acted brilliantly as a model. He knew when to talk and when not– a wonderful trait in a model.”

Draco snickered. “My, Harry, aren’t we blasé about models?”

“Oh Lord, did I sound that vain?” Harry’s skin reached tomato-coloured in no time. 

Draco tried to suppress his good-humoured laughter and failed miserably. Harry took his reaction in and sighed.

“Phew, you are such a git,” he complained. “Don’t get me wrong, but most artists I know, myself included, prefer silence or soft music over constant chatter while drawing. So, stop making fun of me!”

Draco raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’m sorry, but… err, you look kind of cute in such a flushed state.”

xxx

Harry couldn’t believe that Draco Malfoy, Auror and former Death Eater, was sitting next to him larking around and calling him cute. But after a moment of being offended, Harry could see the fun of it and started to chuckle himself. And within seconds they were both shaking with laughter. Tears were rolling down Harry’s face when Tom served up dinner.

Harry took a few deep breaths before he could regain his composure. 

“Enjoy your meal!” Harry said and started to eat. 

They kept the conversation lightly on Quidditch and their former schoolmates during dinner. Harry felt at ease with Draco around, and he asked himself why it had taken him eighteen years to realise the man was quick, witty and really good company. _Well, he had noticed his good looks ages ago,_ he mused. _Yes, and being dick-driven is such a good character trait,_ the guilty part of his brain tossed in.

He put his thoughts back on track and asked Draco, “Do you have an idea to prevent further hauls?”

“Actually, I have, but I need your help. Do you know where all your pictures are or who bought them?” 

“Yes, I can write a list of all drawings in exhibitions, the ones I sold to private persons, and the ones I gifted to someone,“ Harry said and his curiosity got the better of him. “What do you have in mind?”

“It’s obvious that the thief is someone from the Wizarding world but he seems to have no trouble in the Muggle world either. I want to catch that prigger in the act and therefore all your paintings should get an undetectable _Tracking Charm_. Robards and I have modified the _Tracking Spell_ which we can put on people. It works not only on objects now but gives an alarm when it’s been activated.” 

Draco’s silvery eyes searched for approval and Harry nodded. 

“Sounds like a good idea. Could you make sure that I would be alerted too? I really want to be at your side when you catch that bugger.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Draco asked him teasingly and Harry knew he had anticipated his request.

“Am I _that_ predictable?” Harry asked suddenly feeling uncomfortable around his handsome companion. 

Draco seemed to sense his unease and dispelled it. “Only when it comes to Gryffindor-ish tasks like being a hero or catching the bad guy. Otherwise you are quite good at being a mysterious artist. I have to admit, you make me curious.” 

_Oh._ “Umh. Err, thank you!”

“Well, you are definitely more eloquent when it comes to your art than to your own person.” 

Draco’s voice had that teasing lilt again and Harry could see by the twinkle in his eyes that he was currently enjoying himself. 

He smiled wickedly and said, “I’m just trying to be mysterious. Does it work?”

xxx

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, 13th October 2009_

Draco was woken by a loud buzzing sound. _What the fuck?_ Blearily he sat up and saw the glowing yellow light of the trackerball which vibrated on his bedside table. Adrenaline shot through his veins and he cast a _Tempus_. It was half past four in the morning. _Wee hours, your favourite time, bloody thief?_ Determined to catch the rascal Draco jumped out of bed. On his way to the bathroom he summoned some clothes including his robes which levitated after him into the room. He put his head under the cold water of the tap to get as fast awake as possible. He cast a _Drying Charm_ on his hair and started to brush his teeth. Running around with stale breath in the company of Harry Potter was definitely beneath his dignity.

Not five minutes later, wand at the ready he took some Floo powder and called out his first destination of the night, “Harry’s Cottage.”

The connection between Malfoy Manor and Harry’s home had been already installed when Draco asked for it. He had forgotten about his mother’s and Harry’s close friendship for a moment but was glad that it would save him the paper work. _He would rather die than admit that he liked the connection with the Cottage because of… No, better not even think about it_. Nevertheless, it was quite an easy way to travel in the depth of the night.

“Harry, are you awake?” asked Draco, when he walked into Harry’s living room and studio.

He heard a clattering sound from upstairs followed by swearing and then Harry calling, “Wait a second, Draco. I’m just putting some clothes on.”

Draco’s imagination was running wild from one second to the other. He had seen Harry in the nude during their fourth and fifth years at the Hogwarts Quidditch locker room and showers, but that had been ages ago and at that time he had kept his distance. If he might have taken a look once or twice at the scrawny nude, nobody needed to know. But the man had grown up nicely since then. Draco remembered his strong grip from Apparating together. 

His mind tried to lay the different impressions on top of one another. He saw golden skin, a no longer slim but well-built figure before his eyes. Dark hair on a broad chest trailing down in a small line over shaped abs and… his face heated while footsteps were approaching him in the living room. Draco took one deep, calming breath while he glanced over Harry.

He wore slate grey trousers, an aubergine coloured jumper, a grey corduroy jacket and low well-worn black leather boots. If it wasn't for the tousled black mop or the slightly wrinkled appearance, Draco would have thought Harry wanted to visit a vernissage. _Way too hot for nearly five o’clock in the morning_ , Draco thought. 

“Hi Draco, yours and Robards’ tracker is working quite well.”

“Yes. Though, I would have preferred if our thief would have picked some other time than the wee hours of the morning.”

Harry chuckled but got serious when his gaze locked with Draco’s.

“How do we find him?”

“Give me your tracker, please.” 

Harry took the tracker out of his grey trouser pocket while Draco fished in his robe one-handed for his own. As soon as the yellow balls touched each other they melted together, became bigger, and started to glow brighter. Draco waved his wand while speaking a soft incantation and a 3-D-map of London unfolded mid-air before their eyes. 

“Ah, he’s in the British Library after _The Muse_ ,” Harry growled.

Draco could take a guess about the meaning of Harry’s words but he wanted to know for sure. “It’s a painting of my Mother?”

“Yes. It’s not a portrait but a gardening scene. I drew Narcissa while she was working in the gardens of Malfoy Manor some years ago. Though you see her from a distance, I’m sure everybody who knows her, would be able to recognise her.”

“Why is it hanging in the Muggle part of London?”

“I like to mix our worlds together. Most of my paintings about people or things from the Wizarding world are out there somewhere in Muggle museums. And my pics from Muggles are spread through the Wizarding community. I wanted to show that we are all unique, every single one, no matter if Muggle or a Witch and Wizard– in the end we are human beings.”

Draco swallowed a lump down his throat and mumbled, “Yes, I know.”

Their eyes locked and Draco felt the gaze of Harry’s green irises, their searching power flickering through him, reaching for his soul, quarrying for his heart. _Too intense. Too much._ He closed his eyes and started to count backwards from ten. _Ten, nine, eight, sev…_

“Draco, have a look!” Harry said urgently.

His eyes flew open and he saw Harry pointing at the map. The yellow dot of the painting moved. 

“Ok. We need to follow him. As you know the tracker works as a _Portkey_ and should bring us into our thief’s reach. I just need to change the incantation. Drag out your wand and then I’ll count to three. Ready?” Draco looked at Harry who nodded after he’d drawn his wand out of his jacket. 

Draco mumbled the necessary spell which vanished the map and activated the _Portkey_. Then he started to count. “One, two… three.”

Both touched the glowing ball and were sucked into the bright yellow light.

xxx

_A Dark Street, London, 13th October 2009_

They landed in a puddle on slippery cobblestones in a small street. The splashing sounds of their boots alerted the thief who threw a look over his shoulder and ran faster. Draco didn’t want to hurt that bugger but he wouldn’t let him escape either. 

First he casted an _Anti-Disapparition Jinx_ and then tried to stop the black-hooded figure with a _Freezing charm_. No such luck. Their thief was agile and ducked out of the way. 

Next to him Harry casted an unsuccessful _Confundo_.

They shortened the distance but Draco was sure that only stronger charms would stop the slim figure before him. He tried to get the angle right and casted an _Incarcerous_. The conjured rope flew through the night and wrapped itself around the thief’s arms and legs.

The person stumbled and slumped onto the street with a high-pitched shriek. Draco frowned. Their thief’s voice rang a bell. Beside him Harry stopped in his tracks and shot him a confused look. Yes, they both recognised that voice.

Draco sighed and was sure that things would become more complicated in the next few seconds.

Harry kneeled next to the slim black-clothed person who wore a ski-mask on their head. Draco held his breath while Harry vanished the mask and froze in horror, eyes and mouth wide open.

 _Bloody hell_ , Luna Lovegood. Wasn’t she supposed to be Harry’s friend?

“What the fuck do you think you are doing by stealing Potter’s paintings, Lovegood?”

Luna Lovegood’s pale skin got even paler and her huge eyes looked like they would pop out of their sockets if they grew any wider. She didn’t pay attention to Draco, only to Harry, who was kneeling next to her. A mixture of fear, regret, and determination crossed her features. Harry seemed to be at a loss for words. 

“Oh Harry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to… but I need the money and…,” her voice broke and silent tears were starting to run down her face. 

Draco saw how Harry closed his eyes, swallowed as if to keep the bile down, and started to speak, “Luna, I don’t understand. What’s going on? What do you mean, you need the money?”

Harry was visibly hurt and devastated and Draco cursed inwardly at Lovegood for being such a foul friend. He wasn’t sure any explanation could dampen his rising temper but he could deal later with his anger, _on Harry’s behalf no less_. Putting his Auror mask on, he got in gear. 

“Let’s have this conversation somewhere else. Lovegood, do you live nearby? I think we should try to keep this interrogation private and the Ministry isn’t the right place to do so.”

“I’m living just around the corner,” Lovegood said in a flat tone.

He seized her by the shoulders and helped her onto her feet. Harry was coming back on his feet next to her. His eyes looked still sad but were pierced by a curious flicker.

_Thank Merlin, that Harry is such a nosy bugger._

“You won’t flee, will you?” Draco asked. 

Looking defeated she shook her head. 

“Good.” Draco vanished the rope and took her by the wrist, not too gentle but not vicelike either. Together they walked over the cobblestoned street towards Lovegood’s house.

xxx

_The Lovegood’s House, London, 13th October 2009_

I’d felt it beforehand that I would get caught this time. The Nargles in our back garden had been nervous for days but I couldn’t allow myself to listen to them. Taking everything into account my father had taught me, I should have known better. But, I had signed a contract. And wasn’t three a lucky number as well? It was too late now. 

Sighing I walked Harry and Draco into our living room. I reached into my jacket and pulled the box with the shrunken painting out of my pocket.

“Here Harry, I didn’t harm your painting.”

“Where are the other two?” Draco asked.

“I’m afraid, not here anymore.”

“What? Luna, what have you done with them? Where are they?” Harry’s voice was rising louder with every question. And I felt my fear growing in response. Nervously I grabbed at my pendant. The familiar triangle of the Deathly Hollows around my neck calmed me enough to carry on.

“Shh, Harry. I'll tell you everything I know, but please, don’t yell. If he wakes up to shouting, I’m going to have trouble to get him asleep again. Maybe I’ll even need to call the healer,” I said soothingly and didn’t know for a second what to do.

_Don’t be daft. It’s Harry, your friend, and he’ll understand. You just need to show him._

“Harry, Draco, please follow me. I’m going to show you why I’ve stolen Harry’s paintings.”

I saw how Draco frowned at Harry, who nodded his acceptance, and then both started to follow me. We walked upstairs into my father’s bedroom. He slept fitfully and they both could see he was a shadow of his former self. I sighed. 

“He is ill and has been since the war.” I turned to Draco Malfoy raising an eyebrow. “It must have happened when I was a _guest_ in your father’s dungeon.” 

I looked into Draco’s silver-grey eyes, seeing regret, shame, and sorrow. 

“What’s done is done. And I don’t hold a grudge against you or your family. After all, you’ve recognised that you were following a madman.”

I turned towards Harry and caught his gaze. 

“He needs continuous nursing for his physical deficiency and regular healer visits to help him with his mental problems. He reacts very badly to noise. And, I’m sorry, but it costs more Galleons than I could earn with an honest day’s work.” 

I felt new tears welling in my eyes.

“Oh Luna, Why didn’t you ask for help?”

Harry stepped closer and pulled me into his arms. I closed my eyes and gave into my feelings. After all, it had been a long time since I’d been held like this. Close and secure. 

“Let’s get out of here before I lose it completely,” I said hoarsely, feeling uncontrollable sobs coming up from the depth of my throat. 

Harry guided me downstairs with calming sounds. We all sat down on our big sofa, Harry’s arm slung around my shoulder, Draco next to me on my other side.

It took some minutes but finally I was able to speak again. Draco had summoned a handkerchief for me which I was kneading in my hands right now. 

“I’m really, really sorry, Harry. You know how much I love your paintings. I just did it for the money. My customer wrote me that he wanted three of your pictures. He told me which ones and all in all I would have got 20,000 Galleons for them. 11,000 have been already deposited in our vault.”

I heard Draco drawing in a deep breath and felt Harry’s arm stiffen around me.

“Yes, I know. A huge amount of money for something that person could buy legally and for less in the art market. I thought so myself and have no clue why I have been engaged instead.”

“You said, he wrote you. Do you still have this assignment letter?” Draco asked.

“Yes, of course. Wait a minute.”

xxx

Luna slipped out of Harry’s arm and walked towards the desk in the corner. She opened a drawer and searched through its content. Then she pulled out a parchment, shut the drawer and came back to the sofa.

All the while Harry thought about her being the thief and how he felt about it now that he knew about her motive. In the first place he was sad. Sad, that she rather betrayed their friendship than asked him for help. Did she trust so little in their close relationship? He sighed. Even today the side effects of the war weren’t over. But he knew he would get over his hurt feelings because she hadn’t wanted to cause harm and he would be able to forgive her sooner or later. Probably rather sooner than later.

When she reached them at the sofa she gave the letter to Draco who started a thorough inspection. Harry was slightly amused when it wasn’t above him to sniff at the parchment and to rub it between his fingers getting a grip of its structure. But when Draco studied the writing and murmured some spells Harry’s amusement vanished the second Draco got as white as a sheet. 

“What is it? Do you know who has hired Luna?” Harry asked.

His silvery eyes were wide and gazing into his pupils was like sinking into two bottomless dark fountains. Draco was obviously distraught and he could literally see him thinking hard and Harry wanted to know why and what about. He couldn’t fathom this sudden change in Draco’s behaviour and it sent a shiver down his spine. He sensed something unpleasant coming his way just at the moment Draco and him had started getting on quite well. _We would be better off without that_ , he thought. _We?_ Harry’s inside grew hot at first then cold. 

“Draco?”

Harry saw Draco swallowing and taking a deep breath, tokens not qualified to untwist his tensed nerves.

“Well, I think I know who Luna’s principal is but we need to catch him with his pants down. And if I’m right, it’s going to be… unpleasant.”

“Who is it?” Harry said.

Draco cast a glance at Luna, sighed, and shook his head. His gaze locked with Harry’s and just for a second Draco looked forlorn before the impenetrable Malfoy mask was back in place. 

He asked Harry, “Do you trust me?”

Draco's voice was as devoid of emotion as his face, but Harry had seen the hesitance in Draco's eyes just a moment before. He swallowed and asked himself _Do I trust Draco Malfoy?_

Harry thought about all the things he had heard over the years about Draco. Not only from Narcissa but also from Ron, Draco’s Auror partner, who had grown fond of him over time. Of course Ron would never tell. But it was apparent that he had a high opinion of his partner and trusted him with his life which he only did with two other people, Hermione and Harry himself. Then he thought about the last fortnight when he finally had come to know this adult Draco himself. This clever and witty man, who could take his breath away just by looking at him and rub him up the wrong way like none other. This man wouldn’t betray his confidence.

He could feel a smile spreading on his face as his eyes searched for Draco’s.

“Yes, I do. I trust you. And if you can't tell me more at the moment, I will try to be patient until you can.”

Draco’s cheeks flushed and Harry could feel him heaving a sigh of relief.

“Thank you. I will tell you all I know as soon as we discuss our next move. But first I need to know all about the handover. Lov… ehm, Luna, when should you have delivered this last painting?”

Harry shook his head. He had nearly forgotten about Luna’s presence these last minutes.

Her gaze flickered between Draco and him and threw him a knowing smile. Even now, caught as a thief and slightly thrown off her own track, she just knew. Harry felt himself blushing but as he couldn’t help it he fought to ignore it. 

“I placed each painting at the address mentioned in the letter, an empty warehouse in the northeast of London and always the next night after a theft. I think the principal collected it during the night or over the next morning. I would have stocked it this evening around 9 pm.”

“Good. That will give us enough time to prepare everything,” Draco said.

“Prepare what?”

“Later, Harry, I’m going to tell you everything I can about my assumptions and what we will do to catch him.”

 _Ok, a him._ But Draco carried on and his next words let not only Harry feel like a fish out of water. 

“Luna, you should keep the money you’ve earned so far. I’m 99 percent sure of getting Harry’s paintings back safe and sound. I need to speak with Head Auror Robards first, but as far as I can see, all parties concerned will be happy to help you. And if you’ll ever get into a fix again, please tell Harry or come to the Ministry. There are ways to help war victims. They might not be well-known but they _exist_.”

Luna’s jaw dropped open, and though Harry was surprised himself he couldn’t help it but laugh at her face. Why had Draco become the knight in shining armour for this damsel in distress? He was visibly satisfied with himself and Harry loved the smug smirk that played on his plush mouth. There was more to it than he let known.

_But it doesn’t matter. He trusted Draco. And he loved his smirk? Doom was on its way to meet him._

Draco picked up the box with the painting and turned towards the front door. When Harry didn’t follow him he looked back over his shoulder. 

“Harry, we need to go and plan our next move. Aren’t you coming?”

“I am.”

xxx

_Fitzrovia, London, 13th October 2009_

“Shall we go and have some breakfast? It’s past seven thirty and I would love to have a strong coffee,” Draco asked Harry when they stepped out of Luna’s house.

“Oh yes. I could die for a Latte Macchiato with a double or triple shot of espresso.”

“I know a great place. It’s not open yet but they will before long and as I’m a regular they might let us in early. It is also a few minutes away from the Apparition point.” 

He took a look around the empty street, grabbed Harry’s arm, and tried not to inhale too much of his grassy-musky scent. It would only distract him from their destination.

They Apparated into the green of Colville Place and walked casually out of the little park onto Whitfield Street. 

“Where are we going?”

“Towards Tottenham Court Road. The café lies between Goodge and Warren Street.”

“Ah. It’s likely I know your café. Hermione loves it and we’ve met there a few times before her second pregnancy. It’s been a while. Even nearing her due date she can’t stand the smell of coffee. Poor thing. She normally loves coffee.”

“Yes, I know. Weasley always buys her this monstrosity of a triple soy medium two pumps raspberry chocolate latte whenever we stop there for lunch.”

Next to him Harry stopped dead in his tracks.

“Wow, Draco, you really are observant, are you? You even know how my best friend drinks her coffee. She will be flattered if I tell her.”

“Don’t you dare, Potter!” Draco felt himself blushing and cringing at the thought of how pleased Hermione would be if she knew. _Merlin, this first name basis thing his brain did with all the Weasels, was bloody annoying._

“Just kidding. I won’t tell your secrets,” Harry said while he touched Draco’s arm soothingly. 

His heart skipped a beat and he tried to distract himself by looking down at Harry’s strong, knobbly hand with its rough and dry skin.

“Potter, you have the hands of a craftsman. Have you never heard of moisturising cream?”

Harry pulled his hand back like he had been slapped, blushed, and said, “Actually, I _am_ a craftsman and have some cream at home but I always forget to use it.”

“You’re an insufferable person, aren’t you? As your hands are your most important tool, you should treat them better.”

“Yeh, I know. No need to rub it in. Could you please stop acting like a mother hen? I get enough of this from all the Weasley women _and_ your mother. And could you please stop calling me Potter? I’m starting to feel like a scolded teenager here.”

Draco saw the green eyes gleaming mischievously and knew that they were back to taunting each other. 

“If you’re acting like one, I’ll treat you accordingly, oh famous artist.”

“Do you mind if I strangle you before breakfast?”

“You could try, git.”

“Wanker.”

They reached their destination and instinctively looked at each other. Draco caught the smile on Harry’s face and knew he had a matching one on his own face.

xxx

The TAP was already open by the time they got there. They ordered breakfast at the counter and took a seat next to the window towards Midford Place. Harry felt the comfortable silence from some minutes ago was becoming more awkward with every passing minute.

He sighed. “Will you tell me what’s going on? As I said, I don’t want to push you. Just tell me what you can right now.”

The waitress brought their order. A French press of a dark roasted Sumatran coffee and a Croissant for Draco, a double shot medium Latte Macchiato and a cheese sandwich for himself.

Draco, whose eyes had been focused on his coffee, took a deep gulp from his mug, raised his head and met Harry’s eye. 

“I have a strong suspicion who the culprit is and, if I’m right, we will get all your paintings back without a scrape. But of course I can’t be sure and therefore we have to lay bait in your third picture. We can reactivate the tracker but it will take some time to reload the map’s and the _Portkey’s_ magic. That’s going to take ten to twelve hours. But I want to be sure we don’t miss a thing. Therefore it would be better if we have a back-up plan to provide evidence.”

“I see. You are not going to tell me whom you suspect. But I understand why you don’t want to put someone in the pillory without any proof. As for collecting more evidence, the ministry allows Muggle methods as well, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, and even if this admission might shock you, I’ve learned over the years that Muggle methods can be quite handy.”

“Who are you and what have you done with _the Draco Malfoy_ I know?” Harry asked, being partly astonished and partly pleased. 

“Stop it, you prat. I’m sure I’m not the only one who has changed since the war.”

After a look into Draco’s narrowed grey eyes Harry stopped his mocking and continued more seriously.

“London is one of the most guarded cities in the world. Cameras are literally everywhere. Even if there is a _Concealment Charm_ around this warehouse, we could take a look at the cameras surrounding the place. This guy might not collect the picture himself, but after learning he was willing to spend 20,000 Galleons on my paintings, my instincts tell me he will do just that. Especially, as the previous thefts happened without leaving a trace. A fact the _Prophet_ hasn’t got tired of blaring out, which your suspect must know for sure. Don’t you think this could work?”

“Actually, I think that’s a darned good idea,” Draco said leaning subconsciously forward towards Harry. “I knew you would have been a great Auror as well, but I can’t wait to see these three paintings of yours, preferably back where they belong.”

Harry didn’t know what to say after Draco’s statement. Oh, he knew what he felt, but his brain (or was it his _heart_?) was thrown off balance. He didn’t want to unravel this turmoil of emotions. It was about warmth and heat, about coming home and being alien all the same, about taking risks, flying, seeking shelter, about friendship, feeling understood and… _he couldn’t even think about it anymore_.

He closed his eyes, yearning for a break, a fresh canvas, something else to occupy his hands and his muddled thoughts.

xxx

“Harry? Are you ok?”

Draco was worried. One moment Harry had been fine, and the next he was closing his eyes, drifting off and wasn’t talking anymore. What had happened? He had just… 

_Oh_. Maybe Harry didn’t want him to see his paintings. He felt a rush of anger and hurt, but then he came to his senses. Harry was an artist. They wanted to show their creations. For better or worse. So, it was about something else. 

Draco felt like he missed a hint. Something just out of reach. He could sense, but not grasp it. 

But he _wanted_ to understand Harry. He’d always wanted to know him. Draco couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been interested in _Harry Potter_ – out of good or bad intentions. And now he knew him. Or he’d thought that he’d got to know Harry over these past weeks. But sensing a shift in their connection, he wasn’t sure anymore. Draco sighed out of frustration. 

And just a second later Harry opened his eyes and Draco nearly flinched when the intensity of a bright green glaze met his own eyes. For a moment he could do nothing more than hold his breath, waiting, it was as if the world had been put off its axis. 

Then Harry shrugged and everything went back to normal, the world started spinning again. And Draco felt bereft, though he didn’t know why or what was missing. 

At least Harry was talking again.

“I’m fine. Just got lost in my thoughts for a moment. And to be honest, I would be pleased to show you all three paintings. We could take a look at the painting of your mother right now but I think we shouldn’t mess with Luna’s way of wrapping and securing it.”

Draco swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Yes. I know, and try to be patient.”

They fell silent for a moment.

“What is going to happen now?” Harry asked.

“We are waiting until the tracker gets activated tonight or tomorrow morning. I’m going to locate all cameras around the warehouse today and the Ministry will tap the records. I’m bringing you the tracker again this evening. We could also watch the recordings together.”

“Sounds good. If you don’t need me anymore, I should go home. Though I’m tired, I want to paint right now. Actually, I’m itching to do so.”

Harry shot him a weak smile and Draco understood his feelings of restless energy. 

They both stood up. 

Draco got hold of Harry’s arm. “Thank you, Harry, for your help! Let me get this and off you go.”

“Thank you, Draco. See you later.” 

Harry turned around and left the café.

Draco sighed and went to the counter.

xxx

_Rangemoor Road, London, 14th October 2009_

He was definitely spending too much time awake in the wee hours of the morning, hunting down some tricksters. The tracker had buzzed again around 6 o’clock in the morning and Draco had been even faster in his cottage than the night before. He’d seemed to anticipate the culprit’s next move.

Harry’s gaze flickered over to the man next to him who leaned motionless against a brick wall so as not to disturb the _Disillusionment Charm_ they had casted upon themselves. _At least I’m not alone. And the company could be worse, less attractive, less male, less…_. He shook his head. _This_ was not the right time to dwell on his feelings for Draco Malfoy. 

The person who hired Luna was in the warehouse collecting his picture and could leave the building at any minute. 

The roller shutter opened and a tall person came into sight, carrying two different items. The entrance of the building was in shadows, and Harry didn’t recognise him. But something about the man had given him away to Draco because he was tensing up next to Harry.

The man put the box with the painting one-handed into his robe, went to leave the warehouse property and was struck by the light of a street lamp. And Harry felt like being struck by lightning. _What the fuck?_ screamed his brain at the sight of long blond hair, a pointy face, glacial grey eyes, dark robes, and a cane. 

He blinked. Nothing changed. _Fuck_ , it really was Lucius Malfoy not fifteen feet away. Harry wasn’t sure about his brain function anymore. 

Why was Lucius Malfoy getting caught stealing his pictures? 

And did you ever see an oyster walk upstairs? 

It made no sense.

All these thoughts tumbled through his mind when Harry heard a murmured “Bloody hell” next to him. _Oh Lord_ he’d even forgotten about Draco for a minute.

xxx

Draco had anticipated it. But to catch his father committing the crime in reality was something else entirely.

He’d felt Harry going rigid next to him the moment he’d recognised Lucius. How could his father do such a thing? Mess up all their lives again? Hadn’t he learned from the past? Draco was furious but tried to mask it behind his Auror face.

“Father, would you care to enlighten me about your intention to steal three of Harry Potter’s pictures?”

“I wouldn’t have phrased it that way but I do want to know, Mr Malfoy, why you assigned Luna to steal my paintings?”

Draco’s father had stopped dead in his tracks when they approached him. His face was getting pale as a ghost’s and his eyes darted around looking for an escape.

“Father, don’t even think about it,” Draco heard himself say.

“As you have caught me quite unexpectedly, I need to ask. Could we leave this place and talk about my deep wrongs and sins at the Manor? Or do you need to interrogate me at the Ministry? Mr Potter’s other paintings are hanging safe and sound in… one of my rooms at the Manor.”

Draco suppressed a snort and said, “I would have chosen the Ministry, if I’d been you. Being put in a bad light publicly might be a better fate than dealing with Mother’s wrath.”

Realisation hit Lucius and his grey eyes grew wide in panic. 

“Don’t tell me, you thought you’d get away without Mother noticing your latest misdeed. Either you are much bolder or much more stupid than I thought.”

“Draco, stop it. I get that you are upset, but as Malfoys we don’t insult each other in public.”

“What public? Do you mean Harry here? He’s not only your victim but a friend as well.”

Draco was going to lose it, when he felt Harry reaching for his arm, leaning forward. A wave of musky-grassy smell washed over him.

“Draco, don’t let him wind you up. His pride is injured and he’s lashing out like a hurt animal. Let’s take this conversation to Malfoy Manor and we can hopefully get some answers. I’m sure he won’t escape yours, Narcissa’s or my anger.” 

Harry’s voice and scent soothed Draco’s ire and the breath next to his ear made him realise how close they stood. And, _of course_ , his body chose this, of all moments, to remind him that Harry Potter was able to get him aroused at the most improper times. Though it _did_ distract him from his anger. 

He couldn’t suppress a chuckle which earned him a questioning look from Harry and a knowingly raised eyebrow from his father.

xxx

They Apparated in front of the Manor’s Gates and walked silently up the foggy path to the main doors. Harry was glad for some peaceful moments. He still didn’t get Lucius’ intentions and was hoping his actions would start to make some sense sooner or later. 

He was worried about Draco as well. His anger had seemed so serious. Like he was about to do something reckless, something Un-Malfoy-ish, which could only backfire and hurt himself. He _was_ a Malfoy and nothing would change that. And if Harry was honest, it was one of the things he… really liked about Draco; his posh accent, the good manners, and him radiating an inbred certainty about his place in the world– a trait which had taken Harry more than twenty years to get to. 

Finally they reached the living room and – like the last time he had been here – Harry walked straight to the great windows. The sunrise was taking place. Its first rays put the plants and flowers, covered with dew drops, into a myriad of colours only dimmed by wafts of grey-white mist. It was a stunning sight and Harry felt his spirit lifting. He turned around.

“What’s been going on here?” Harry asked Lucius.

“Straightforward, like we all know the famous Mr Potter.”

“Yes. And diversionary manoeuvres aren’t working, Mr Malfoy.”

“I see.”

“Father, either you are answering Harry’s question or you are going to tell me where you’ve hidden Harry’s paintings.”

“Draco, joining forces with Mr Potter isn’t making me more cooperative.”

Harry heard footsteps approaching and saw how the smug look left Lucius’ face.

“Lucius, Draco, Harry. What happened?” Narcissa asked immediately sensing that something was wrong.

“We’ve been just asking Father why he has assigned Luna Lovegood to steal Harry’s paintings. Which are here somewhere at the Manor by the way.”

Narcissa was speechless with horror for a moment but then she seemed to gather her wits and anger was flaring on her face. 

“Lucius, dear, would you please tell me, why you’ve stolen Harry’s paintings?”

Her _dear_ made Harry’s blood run cold. He saw a flicker of unease cross over Draco’s face. And Lucius was trying to hunch his tall body up to provide himself as a smaller target. 

It was of no use.

“Lucius, we are waiting.”

“I… I really like Mr Potter’s paintings and wanted… Merlin, this is more painful than a _Cruciatus_ … I wanted these three for myself. His pictures are spectacular as you know very well, being his adoring muse, darling.”

“Don’t flatter me, Lucius. I’m shocked and scandalised by your behaviour. Where are Harry’s pictures?”

Lucius pulled the box with _The Muse_ out of his robe pocket, looking more like a scolded sullen boy than a proud man in his fifties.

“The other two are hanging in my father’s… old study. Why don’t we summon Milla to get them?”

A moment later Milla appeared next to Narcissa who talked to her in a hushed tone. The house-elf disappeared. Harry was sure Lucius would have left as well if he’d had the choice.

“After I’ve seen his drawing style I can see why you wanted some of Harry’s paintings for yourself. But why didn’t you buy some on the art market? Why not ask Mother with her knowledge and connection to Harry?”

“Draco, are you daft? _Lucius Malfoy_ going after Potter’s paintings when everyone knows we could be hardly called acquaintances. Imagine how that would have set tongues wagging. No, that would have been absolutely impossible. Such a shame.”

“Do I understand you correctly, Lucius? You were willing to take chances on another visit to Azkaban and you would have spent 20,000 Galleons on three paintings to keep up appearances? Because you are as proud as a peacock?” Narcissa huffed and Harry could literally see steam coming out of her ears.

“Cissa, don’t be…”

“No! _You_ listen to _me_. You won’t put your vanity over the safety of our family ever again. First your mind-set, now your vanity. Lucius Malfoy, if you ever pull a stunt like this again, I’ll file for divorce.”

“I…“

“Did you hear me?”

…

“Yes. I heard you. And… I won’t do it again,” said Lucius defencelessly. 

“Good.”

Harry exchanged a startled look with Draco and fought to keep his face impassive, becoming rigid in doing so.

Inwardly he was dancing with glee though. All pictures seemed to be safe. And to witness how Narcissa was making mincemeat out of Lucius… his day couldn’t get any better. He recapitulated their dialogue to remember every word. Hermione and Ron would laugh themselves to tears. Oh, he couldn’t wait to tell them. Yep, _Schadenfreude_ wasn’t nice, but just this once he didn’t care.

xxx

Draco saw Harry’s stiff composure and felt sorry for himself. They had got along so well. And now Lucius actions were destroying their efforts to become friends and whatever else had started to grow between them. Not to mention the reputation the Malfoy’s name had would get tarnished again when word got out to the press.

Milla Apparated into the room levitating two paintings with her.

Like one Harry and Draco stepped forward to take a look. Draco wanted to make sure both paintings were unharmed but _Crossroads_ captured his attention. He hadn’t been there that night at the clearing but now he could see it. 

Harry was lying on the grassy ground looking as dead as he had told Draco he’d been; a slim figure with a sooted, calm face, askew glasses, and burned clothes. Draco remembered that day when they’d met again in the Great Hall and how sure Harry had looked, how alive. His heart stuttered in his chest.

A circle of Death Eaters stood around but their attention was directed at the second crumpled person. A wall of hooded or masked figures with black robes fretting over Voldemort’s figure, pale head, eyes closed and wand still in his claw-like hand. He saw his mother standing out of the crowd. She wasn’t wearing a mask, her attention focused on Harry, showing a hint of concern. In the background he could see the dark green and brown of the trees and a dawning sky. 

And here the light changed and instead of a sky he saw something else on the upper half of the painting. No more dark colours but bright grey and white dominated the scene. Harry was there again, at the end of platform 9 ¾, sitting on a bench with bare feet, robes but no glasses. Dumbledore sat next to him. He could see that they felt comfortable in each other’s company but there was a trace of tension in the air. Around them clouds of mist seemed to drift through the station, giving the whole place a transcendental atmosphere. He saw a strange bundle which screamed _wrong_ at him and remembered Harry talking about Voldemort who had been there as well. He wouldn’t have guessed the appearance of a demolished soul but it looked like Harry had caught its essence of wrongness. 

He sighed. 

Though this painting was about the choices Harry had made that day, he felt reinforced in his own ones. He hadn’t been as strong as Harry back then _and probably would never be_ , but he’d already been walking on a better path himself. That he hadn’t killed Dumbledore, hadn’t revealed Harry to his family at the Manor, and withheld Gregory and Vincent in the Room of Requirement had been the start. He knew he’d been trying to be a better person since then.

He felt a hand on his arm and sensed Harry’s fragrance again. It was becoming disturbingly familiar, as were the emerald green eyes when their gazes met.

“Everything’s alright?”

“Yes, just thinking. I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s got lost in thoughts studying this painting.” Draco pointed at _Crossroads_. 

“No. You’re not. It works even for me. And that’s how it should be.” 

Harry was looking pleased about his reaction and as Draco wasn’t sure what to think about that he took a look at the next painting. 

A whole different thing, but Draco was captivated once again.

Oh yes, _Angelo_ was a sight for sore eyes. Caramel male nudity in its full glory. His features with glowing amber eyes, and a body caught frozen in time. Just the moment before he would leap at his enemies.

“Wow, he’s truly beautiful. I don’t know how you resisted making a pull on him,” Draco felt himself blushing horribly when he remembered that his parents were still in the room. 

Harry laughed. A relieved and happy laugh which sent shivers down Draco's spine and his blood south. Draco closed his eyes for a moment, to regain his composure and to stop himself from making a pass at Harry. 

Being aroused in the company of his parents was bad enough. He definitely didn’t need to make a complete fool of himself in front of them. 

He took a look at the last picture, enjoying the familiar view of his mother working in the Manor’s rose garden. He felt the peaceful atmosphere devolving from the canvas upon himself. He could only imagine how intense a whole exhibition must be for the onlookers. 

“An exhibition of yours must come with a warning sign. Be careful, feelings lurking and coming to life while watching,” he said relieved that his voice sounded normal in his ears.

“Ah, Draco, thank you! That’s the most wonderful thing you could have said about my art.” 

Harry came nearer and whispered in his ear, “If we were alone, I would snog you senseless right now. Such a shame, we are not on our own.”

Heat flooded from Draco’s belly up and down his spine, into his flushing face and into his prick which went from half-aroused to painfully hard in a matter of seconds. 

_Yes, please… No. Not here, not now._ He cleared his throat. 

“Err, I need to talk with Robards about this morning’s events and you should take your pictures to your cottage.” Draco focused with all might on his job and banned every thought about snogging Harry or doing even better things with him into the back of his mind.

“Mother, Father, I’ll inform you later of the consequences Father’s stunt brought us. I’ll try to make a deal with Head Auror Robards about Ms Lovegood and you. It’s fortunate for you that Luna’s father needs permanent medical care as a war victim – reparations might be your only punishment then.”

“It might help that I don’t care about further punishment except financial safety for Luna’s dad’s care. Narcissa helped me these last weeks, being a really good friend and you’ve done everything to solve the problem, Draco. No harm done.”

“Thank you, Harry. You are very generous.” 

This time Draco leant forward towards Harry’s neck and breathed, “I could make the misdeeds of my Father up to you later. In fact, I would be pleased to do so. Think about all the things he has done to you over the years and how deep I’m in debt to you.”

He took a step back, his eyes searching for Harry’s, while he let his tongue glide suggestively over his bottom lip. 

Harry’s breath hitched and his dilated pupils were surrounded by burning green in a darker shade than normal. Draco was glad he wasn’t the only one affected by arousal now. He winked at Harry and turned around.

His mother and father stared at him and Draco felt another blush creeping up his face. This time more from embarrassment than arousal. He sighed.

“Mother, Father, see you later. Harry, you too.”

Draco stepped towards the fireplace, picked some Floo powder from the artful cut blue-green glass bowl and vanished in a swirl of green flames to the Ministry.

xxx

_Harry Potter’s Cottage, Devon, 14th October 2009_

It was late afternoon and Harry was painting when he heard the Floo chiming behind him. He was nearly done outlining his next portrait and didn’t turn around; instead he looked over his shoulder. 

“Ah Draco, it’s good to see you.”

“Thank you. I’m glad to be here. But you seem to be busy at the moment, aren’t you?”

“Um, yes, I’m sorry. It won’t take much longer but I need to finish this. Please take a seat and tell me what happened at the Ministry. What did Robards say?”

“Well, he consulted Kingsley about the whole affair and they agreed on two things. Father is committed to pay a rather high amount of reparations. The money should go to Mr Lovegood; not all at once but as a monthly amount– at least for the next fifteen years. Such a long time will hopefully help to get the message through. And Luna has to donate the captured money in equal parts to the Ministry and the Museums she stole your paintings from. But no further punishment will be intended.”

Harry listened to Draco with half an ear while the charcoal flew over the canvas. 

“I suppose the amount of money for Luna’s father will cover the medical bills and both their daily needs. But Luna couldn’t do a lot of things on her own. She’ll need to look for a job herself if she wants to spend money or go traveling.”

“You’re right. And father will feel these monthly payments as if a thorn is sticking in his flesh. It might be mean but I’ll fear he would get bold again after some time without precaution.”

“Let’s hope not.”

Finished with his draft, Harry chuckled, remembering what Draco had offered earlier that day.

“And you promised me amends of my own. Didn’t you?” 

He turned around taking in the lean blond figure on his sofa. Draco wore light grey trousers matching the grey of his eyes and a contrasting mahogany cashmere jumper. He looked utterly delectable and Harry felt himself grinning in anticipation.

xxx

“Yes, Harry, I did promise to make the Malfoy misdeeds up to you,” Draco said in the poshest voice he could think of and rose from the sofa.

He watched the effect his words had on Harry. Harry’s breath hitched, his pale-gold skin was turning slightly rosy on his cheeks and a bulge became visible in his jeans. Draco wanted to devour Harry with more than his eyes and closed the distance between them. He licked his lips and saw Harry’s gaze following his every move.

Draco stood in front of Harry, leaning close, inhaling deeply and pouring into his ear, “What do you have in mind as thorough punishment?”

A soft gasp escaped Harry and he put his hands on Draco’s arms.

“If I can have my wicked way with you, that’ll be enough punishment,” Harry said with a twinkle in his eyes.

“And now, kiss me.”

Draco searched for Harry’s mouth with his lips, starting to let the tip of his tongue glide over the line where bottom and upper lip met. As if his licking were a command Harry obediently opened his mouth and their tongues met. Coherent thoughts left Draco the moment wet heat and mingling softness took over. 

He felt Harry’s hand gliding up his arm over shoulder and nape into his hair where it caressed his scalp. His other hand pulled Draco closer gripping and kneading his buttocks. Purring sounds came from the depth of his throat. 

Draco grabbed the hem of Harry’s shirt with both hands and pushed it hastily out of the way, his hands were gliding over firm flesh, combing through soft hair, searching for Harry’s nipples. When his fingers found them his nails pricked lightly and the flesh hardened under his touch.

The little soft sounds Harry made seemed to be directly connected to his dick, its growing size bulging his trousers. His tongue left Harry’s mouth in need for air. 

“Bedroom?” Draco asked lacking all eloquence. 

Harry’s eyes searched his. A small green ring around wide black pupils looked questioningly into his. “If you are willing, we could go somewhere else, making this special.”

Draco was surprised but nodded.

“You’re the one in charge.”

“Oh, yes.” 

Harry grabbed Draco’s arms again, “Hold on.”

They Apparated into a second studio with huge cans of paint on the floor and curtained off canvases next to a wall. Harry whipped his wand out of the back pocket of his jeans and started to cast lightning-fast spell after spell. Two cans opened with a _pop_ , a yellow and a blue one. Draco felt the floor going pliable under a _Cushioning Charm_ and his eyes grew wide in understanding. _Bloody hell._

“I’ll take my clothes off then.”

“Yes, please.” 

Harry’s pleading voice held a tone of wonder and anticipation.

“You have never done this before, have you?” 

“No. But I always wanted to.” Harry’s cheeks flushed red. “I dreamed about you, here in this room, doing… you’ll see.” And a sexy grin appeared on his face.

Draco’s heart skipped a beat at Harry’s honest confession. He felt the need to act bold himself. Draco lifted his chin, locked his gaze with Harry’s, and started to take off his clothes.

Harry followed his moves while Draco lifted his jumper and vest off. 

“You should join me,” he said.

“I will before long. But this is too gorgeous to miss.”

Draco’s insides grew hot. He felt more than he saw Harry’s intense eyes taking him in; arms, shoulders and chest, taking off shoes and socks and unbuttoning his trousers. He took a deep breath and pushed trousers and pants down in one motion.

Harry looked at him like Draco was an oasis in the desert. Harry’s gaze didn’t linger on his groin any longer than every other part of his body and Draco felt wholly worshipped by his caressing eyes though they hadn’t touched since their arrival in the room. 

“I’m all yours.“

xxx

Draco Malfoy stood in his studio completely naked as if his dream had come true. Harry felt the need to pinch himself. It wasn’t a dream. After seeing Draco undress he needed to touch him. He banished his clothes with a flicker of his wand, put it on top of the pile, and walked over to Draco.

“That’s cheating.”

Harry snickered and grabbed Draco’s left hand, pulling them towards the cans. He let himself slip to the ground in between the cans, his thighs bent over his shanks, arse resting on his heels. Draco sat opposite of him cross-legged, goose bumps visible on his arms.

“Are you cold?”

“No.”

 _Oh._ Harry leant forward taking Draco’s chin into his hands.

“I’m a bit nervous too,” Harry said only inches away from Draco’s face. He inhaled Draco’s fresh and salty scent and closed the distance for an overdue deep kiss. Their tongues collided until Harry retreated again.

Harry pointed at the cans and then his eyes searched for Draco’s silver-greys. “May I?”

Draco nodded.

“Join me, if you like.”

“I might.”

They fell silent. 

Harry felt a little awkward, being naked while conversing politely over body painting.

He inhaled and let his hands sink right and left into the cans. He had charmed the colour which was slick and warm on his fingers. Harry spread his hands on Draco’s collarbones, stroking down his chest passing the pale diagonal curse scar with his fingers. He felt Draco exhaling under his warm touch. 

Harry crossed his hands, picked up paint again, shifted a quarter inch and did the same motion again. Next he coloured only his index and middle fingers to circle over Draco’s nipples which rose under his touch. 

As did his cock once more.

Harry smiled.

The next trail of blue and yellow started at Draco’s knees up his thighs. He reached Draco’s groin without paint and Harry took his hands away. Draco groaned in protest. Harry’s smile grew wider and he did it again. This time he began on Draco’s hipbones following their lines to his crotch, combing through blond curls, stopping at the base of his cock.

“You bloody tease.”

Draco looked like Harry had gone mad with yellow, blue and mingled green paint glinting on his skin. Only his pale cock with the rosy head was lacking colour and demanding more attention. It was the most arousing sight Harry had ever seen. _He is so beautiful,_ Harry thought. An overwhelmed moan escaped him, all thoughts about paint suddenly forgotten.

Harry shifted forward cupping Draco’s jaw with his left hand, forcing his tongue into Draco’s mouth, engulfing a shoulder with his other arm and pushing them both down. Harry held on to Draco, shifted them and rolled them around, Draco landing on top of him. Their hard-ons pressed against each other’s. _Oh Lord, yes._

As they moved, Harry’s thigh had knocked down one of the cans and paint was spilling over the floor. Harry didn’t care, even when slick warm paint reached his arse but Draco cackled over it.

“Can we use the paint as lube?”

“It’s body paint. Will be messy but ok.”

“Good,” Draco said with a smirk.

Draco crawled down Harry’s trail of black hair, stroking and kissing his way over Harry’s chest and abdomen. When Draco reached his prick he sucked the head without preamble into his mouth and Harry had trouble to control himself from bucking up his hips. 

Harry closed his eyes when his senses went into overdrive; wetness, heat, suction, teeth scraping, tongue sliding, merciless friction.

“Mmmh”, hummed Draco, bringing Harry close to the brink in a disconcertingly short time. 

“Fuck,” he shouted. “Draco, I’m going to come…”

The motion stopped abruptly when Draco lifted his head, abandoning his cock.

Harry’s eyes flew open and he whined without shame, “Who’s the fucking tease right now?”

Panting, he looked at Draco whose hands wiped the yellow puddle around. Then he spread Harry’s legs. Harry tried to lay still in vain and writhed in anticipation.

xxx

Draco reached with his left hand for Harry’s balls, fondling the soft skin, enjoying Harry squirming under his hands. His right stroked downwards reaching his goal.

“Please,” Harry begged.

Harry’s plea made his rock hard prick twitch.

His slicked finger breached Harry’s hole and Harry pushed his arse into the air. 

Draco chuckled. 

“So eager for my cock. Shall I treat you rough, Harry?”

“Yes!”

And Draco did. 

He switched from one to three fingers and heard Harry’s gurgled moans.

He crooked his fingers in the tight warmth and found the spot. Harry’s hips were bucking and Draco needed one hand to hold him on the floor. His own breath was getting faster and he knew he would come very soon their first time. He hoped it wouldn’t be the last.

Draco put Harry’s legs on his shoulders and positioned his bobbing cock before Harry’s pucker.

“Ready, my slutty little artist?”

“Fuck, yes.”

Draco pushed forward in one swift motion. 

Harry’s arse was tight, hot, and perfect. 

Draco groaned, pulling all the way out, pushing in again. He set a fast and hard pace. With every thrust he changed the angle slightly until Harry cried, “Oh Lord, oh yes” followed by incomprehensible words. 

“Ah, Harry, look at you. All smeared up with slick paint, even your tight dark hole is greased with yellow paint.”

Draco was panting hard now due to his pace and the dirty talk. But he wanted Harry to come without his cock being touched. 

“You must be the sluttiest artist under the sun. Show it. I want to see you coming. Could you add some white on my coloured skin? Clenching your arse around my prick? Come for me, Harry.”

And Harry did. He shouted something that reminded Draco vaguely of his name. And when his arse contracted around Draco’s cock it was his own undoing. He felt his balls convulsing, heat coiling down from his spine, his come shooting in waves into Harry. 

Wheezing heavily his body crashed down on Harry’s. But he didn’t seem to mind because Draco could feel his arms and his fingers tracing little curls and circles on his back.

As soon as he’d regained a little strength he slipped out of Harry, whom squirmed at that, and tried to lie down next to him. But Harry pulled Draco into his arms, resting Draco’s head in the crook of his arm. Once again surrounded by Harry’s scent he closed his eyes, relaxed, and felt… content.

Harry chuckled next to him. 

“What?”

“Who would have thought that this filthy mouth of yours could be such a turn on? If I’d known that during school…” 

Draco joined Harry’s laughter. “You would have smacked my filthy mouth magically or with your bare hands.”

“Yeah, probably,” Harry said sighing softly.

Draco felt so at ease in Harry’s arms that he dared to leap into the unknown.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. I can give you a taste of my filthy mouth or whatever you need from me whenever you like.”

His pulse was rising again when he felt Harry shifting next to him. 

“Draco, look at me.”

Draco lifted his head, his gaze being caught by Harry. 

“I would love to take whatever you are willing to give me. Filthy mouth, sharp mind, and gorgeous body included.”

Harry’s green eyes were sparkling with joy matching the smile on his face.

Draco felt his own grin widening in response. 

“That’s a deal!”

“We should move our colourful arses into the shower and have some dinner. And what do you think about dessert in my bedroom later?” Harry asked.

“Splendid idea,” Draco murmured while seeking out Harry’s soft lips for another deep kiss.

xxx

_Epilogue_

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, 25th December 2010_

Lucius’ gaze slid over his son and his cohabitant. Potter was sitting too closely to Draco on the sofa opposite his own. Lucius huffed silently, thinking this only showed Potter’s lack of decorum. Most annoyingly, it had infected Draco’s behaviour over this past year of their relationship. 

He was tempted to sneer at Potter. About nothing particular, just because he was _a Potter_. Did he need another reason? 

But he knew he would bitterly regret such a thing. His wife and his son would both hex him seven ways until Sunday. And it would only get worse. This man would be tied even closer to his family; if he took Draco’s present for Potter as a hint, he was looking at the sooner-or-later-to-be husband of his son. 

He would never understand what Draco saw in the man, with his unruly black hair, no manners at all, and his annoying hero complex. There were so many handsome pure-blood wizards. Why didn’t his son pick Blaise Zabini or Adrian Pucey? But no, Draco had to fall in love with _Harry Potter_.

That wasn’t even the worst. He, Lucius Malfoy, admired a part of Potter himself. His unique talent, the way he made people feel with this art of his. How Potter’s paintings could raise emotions he thought he’d lost through the war. And the git _knew_ it. 

Since they’d captured him last year the cat was out of the proverbial bag. He cringed inwardly thinking about one of the most embarrassing moments of his life. In a way he’d felt more exposed than during the time when the Dark Lord had regularly violated his mind. 

But he had survived it, as he would survive the stir the marriage of Harry Potter into his family would create. 

Nevertheless, he felt out of sorts about all this and wasn’t happy about such mundane feelings. _He was a Malfoy after all, and Malfoys normally didn’t dwell in feelings like common wizarding folks._

He heard footsteps from behind and Narcissa slipped next to him on the cushion. She kept the proper distance, like a pure-blood should, and gave him a warm smile. At least her manners hadn’t suffered from her close friendship with Potter.

He couldn’t help himself finding his wife adorable. He would never tell her, but feared she could see right through him and knew anyways. He sighed. _When had his life become so sentimental? He was sure it was somehow Potter’s fault as well._

“As we are all sitting together so peacefully and still have about an hour until Milla will serve lunch, why don’t we start exchanging presents?” Narcissa asked. 

_Peacefully, indeed,_ Lucius acknowledged, not missing the irony of his former train of thoughts.

They did start handing out Christmas gifts.

Lucius was pleased by Draco’s present, an elm cane with a jade handle. The wood was carved like snake scales and the jade formed the snake’s head. It looked tenderer than his other canes, like a snake that would _not_ bite immediately. He tried to ignore Draco’s silent message and just acknowledged his present’s craftsmanship.

Narcissa gave him some old Egyptian papyrus scrolls and he couldn’t wait to take a better look at them. Translating ancient Egyptian scrolls had become a hobby of his. He’d turned into a known expert over time and was even inquired by Muggle scientists. He hid from the portraits of his parents and grandparents when he’d been visited by Muggles. It worked a lot better than he would have thought. A fond smile crossed his face. Even after all these years her presents were always the best.

Out of the corner of his eyes he could see that Draco had changed his mind and stowed his jewel box away. Oh joy, he didn’t need to witness his son’s proposal. He was sure it would be disgustingly sappy and might involve a Malfoy kneeling in front of a Potter. Just the thought made him nauseous. _Thank Merlin for small mercies_.

He had been lost in his musings, when a subtle nudge of Narcissa’s elbow made him look up. Potter was approaching him, carrying a bulky parcel in his hands. And though he didn’t want to, his eyes grew wide at its sight. _It couldn’t be, could it?_ Most certainly Potter held a wrapped canvas in his hands. Lucius saw a flicker of amusement in Potter’s eyes and a mischievous grin on his lips and all his alarm bells started to ring. 

“Mr Malfoy, Happy Christmas!”

“Thank you, Mr Potter. Do you like my present?”

“Oh yes, Cashmere knee socks in every dazzling colour. Just what I need to get through the winter.”

Lucius narrowed his eyes. Potter _was_ laughing at him. He wouldn’t take it.

“Yes, I thought your artistic sense of colours would appreciate socks in chartreuse, flaxen, oyster, canary, brick, orchid, magenta and candy, of course.” 

Lucius let a smug smile cross his face.

“Of course,” Potter said. 

He shoved the parcel into Lucius’ hands and added, “I hope you’ll like my present as well.”

Curiosity got the better of him and while putting great effort into not looking too eager or pleased, Lucius unpacked his present. 

He stared, and stared, and blinked, and stared again. _This devilish, genius, son of a ... No, he wouldn’t lose his countenance._

He looked once more. 

He’d heard about this new series of Potter’s pictures. _”This is the first time Harry had used magic while creating art. The results are outstanding!”_ Narcissa had said, beside herself with joy. 

It was a series of birds which changed into a human and back depending on the angle of the onlooker. He’d known about Draco impersonating a silver-grey black-chested buzzard-eagle. As he hadn’t heard of that bird before, he'd looked it up in the _Encyclopædia of Wizarding Britannica_ to get some information about this South American species. It had been a fitting bird for his handsome, strong and elegant son.

His damned incompetent art thief was epitomising a magpie. He had found it quite fitting though his smile had been brief. After all he was still paying reparations for Lovegood’s mental father. 

Narcissa had been drawn as a white swan and Lucius loved her painting. And finally, he got a _Harry Potter_ for himself. And _now_ he got the meaning of this Muggle proverb about wishes as well. 

When he looked at this portrait he saw himself. His posture was regal, and haughty, and he gazed into the distance. And then the picture changed… into a _peacock_. 

Not a common blue and green one, but a white one, like the ones which inhabited the Malfoy grounds. And though the bird was quite a sight with its ethereal fan, Lucius wasn’t amused to be compared with a... well, a peacock. _A bird with a brain the size of a pea_ , he thought wryly. 

Potter just wanted to get to him. And Lucius would rather die than give in to that. 

He might even get to Potter one day, making him speechless and gawk. As he knew his son, they would become a family soon– which should gave him plenty of opportunities.

“Thank you, Mr Potter. I get the bigger picture.” Lucius threw him an icy smile. “Don’t you think Narcissa and I will make a lovely couple as birds as well?” 

Potter grinned. “Yes. I’m sure you will and I’m glad to discover that you have a sense of humour after all.”

“Mr Potter, you should probably look for some avian species for yourself. You might choose one which is able to settle down to family life with a silver-grey black-chested buzzard-eagle.”

Potter’s jaw dropped and his pupils dilated.

Lucius allowed himself a low chuckle. And being happy to have the final say he got up from the sofa.

“Narcissa, darling, Draco, Mr Potter, I think lunch is ready. Let’s go and enjoy some roasted bird.”

fin

**Author's Note:**

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